Book 38 - The Seeds Of Change
by GailDunn2
Summary: WARNING: ADULT THEMES, VIOLENCE. The devastating news has far-reaching consequences for the entire family. There are shocking developments taking place, both across the ocean, and very close to home.
1. We've Got Tonight

Chapter 1 - We've Got Tonight

After leaving Frank and Jody's place, the family went their separate ways, all needing to process the devastating news in their own manner.

Cas had been planning to wink himself and Gail up to Heaven immediately, to look at the information they appeared to have on the Coffin Texts. But his wife was so upset that he took her to their house on Earth, instead.

However, as soon as they got there, Gail thought about that first Christmas they'd had there, and she burst into tears again. Little Robbie, running around in the snow. He'd been so proud when he'd received his snowman-sculpting trophy. She wondered if he still had that thing. They hadn't had another competition like that again, because the next year they'd spent Christmas in Africa. And then later, Rob had been too old to run around in the snow, and then, the other family kids who'd come along had just been babies. Now, Peter and Angela were bigger, and would likely enjoy a romp in the snow. Gail began to smile, imagining that. But then, she started to bawl again, because she remembered that Riley had been part of their Christmas festivities in the past, too. When they had been having their video game tournaments, he had always been too much of a gentleman to "kill" Gail in the game. Everybody would tease him about it, but Riley would just smile good-naturedly.

But Riley was gone now, and so was Efram, who had been here last Christmas, making funny faces at Angela, making her laugh. Efram had been a little timid when he'd come to their place for occasions like Christmas and the Never Have I Ever party, just like Riley had been, that first Christmas. Cas had been such a larger-than-life hero to the young Angels that they had been intimidated to be at his house. But they had been very welcome. Even Becky, who exasperated Gail sometimes. She had been here that first Christmas too, sitting companionably with Bobby on the porch, as judges of the snowman-building competition. When was the last time they had seen, or even spoken to, Becky? They should probably invite her this year, if for no other reason than to find out how she was doing.

There was also little George, Ethan and Karen's son. He had never been here before. He would enjoy the snowman competition too, Gail was sure. She started to feel excited again. The only child who would be too young to take part would be Barry and Tommy's little daughter, Ilene. She was still a baby. But it would be wonderful to have all of them here. She and Cas had been so busy that they hadn't even had the chance to see Baby Ilene in person. But Barry had sent Frank and Jody tons of pictures via e-mail, and Frank had printed a couple of them out for the others. Cas had one in his wallet, as well as photos of Peter and Angela. Gail had joked that he was going to need a bigger wallet, if their extended family kept on having kids.

It was a good thing that Cas had made those extensions to their house when he had been God, because Gail was going to make sure they had the biggest, busiest, most fun-filled Christmas they could ever have. Just in case it was Jody's last, she thought miserably.

Then Gail started to weep again, and Cas did the only thing he could do: he took her in his arms and held her.

Bobby had relented, and taken Dean to Nicole's place after they left Frank and Jody's house. Their old friend's shocking news had shaken the men to the core, and Bobby could understand Dean's need for the kind of comfort a lady friend could provide.

Dean's head was spinning at the moment. Jody had an inoperable brain tumor. No matter how much any of them had tried to sugarcoat it by saying that she could go into remission, or that cancer research was coming up with new breakthroughs all the time, that was pretty much it, as far as Dean was concerned. Game over. The problem was, Dean couldn't imagine their world without Jody in it. Admittedly, ever since she'd had the baby, they hadn't seen all that much of her; just at parties and things, mainly. But, still. He and Sammy and Bobby had known her the longest. They had been through the wars with her. She was someone they had always been able to rely on. She was a sister, a mother, a friend. And, with apologies to Gail and Linda, Jody was the toughest, most kickass woman Dean knew. She was smart, too. So it must be killing her to realize that her brain was slowly failing her.

So Dean had told Nicole what was going on, and she had been sympathetic and understanding. But, in a way, that was freaking Dean out, too. Because, in Nicole's mind, they were back to where they had been before Ammit had possessed her. Cas had killed Ammit, back in 2500 BC. Therefore, she didn't exist, in the current timeline. She had never taken over Nicole's body, so Nicole and Dean had never had their fight. But, it went even further: because that whole thing had never happened for her, Nicole had no idea that Cas was no longer God, and that Bobby was.

Actually, Dean had asked Bobby about that, before the men had arrived in Vancouver. If Ammit had never been at the bunker, then shouldn't Riley and Efram and the others still be alive? But Bobby had smiled sadly. No, it didn't work that way, he'd told his friend. Bobby had actually thought of that, too. But even though Cas had originally used the fact that Crowley had double-crossed him by letting Ammit get away as an excuse to lead the raid into Hell, that raid had still taken place, in the current timeline. It was enough to drive ya nuts, Bobby had remarked. Now Dean could see why Cas had always said that time travel was not to be undertaken lightly.

But at least Dean was back in Nicole's good books now, and that was something to celebrate. She brought them each a beer, and they had a silent toast. Dean's girlfriend had been shocked to hear the news about Jody, too. She knew that Jody went way back with the guys. How heartbreaking. She was trying to think of the right words of comfort to say when Dean grabbed the beer bottle out of her hand and put it on the coffee table, next to his. Then they were kissing, and a minute later, they were in her bed.

Sam had a couple of drinks with Frank and Jody and the boys, and then Rob offered him a ride home. There weren't any Angels left at the house, and both the liquor and the shocking news had hit Sam hard. So he'd accepted the lift back to the bunker, and he and Rob had ended up having one more drink and a bit of a cry at the bunker.

Then Rob had left, wanting to get back to his mom, and Sam was left to sit alone at the library table, depressed and brooding. He had no idea what to do with himself. Jody was dying. Jody was dying. He couldn't believe it. Jody was dying. The sentence was playing in a continual loop in his head.

He took his cell phone out of his pocket and called Quinn's number.

She answered, but she told him that she was just about to board a train. Now that Oliver was no longer haunting her place, Quinn was determined to get her business back on track. There was a huge Psychic Expo being held in the state of Michigan, and she had decided to go. If nothing else, she could do some networking, and at least she could get out of town for a while. She hadn't gone to too many places when Oliver had been in her house.

So, Sam had told her to have a good time, and then he had hung up. She had sounded way too cheerful for the mood he was in, and the timing hadn't been right for the kind of discussion he'd had in mind.

He sat there for another couple of minutes, and then he got up and went to the bar.

Gail had stopped crying for the moment, but she was clutching at Cas as if he were a life preserver and she was drowning. "I can't even imagine how Frank feels right now," she fretted. "Even when you were in the Netherworld, I knew there was no way I was going to accept losing you. I didn't care what I had to do. I was never going to give up until I got you back. I don't know how they can just say we have to let her go. How can they say that, Cas? How can Frank do that?"

He had both of her hands in his, and he was holding them tightly. "I don't know, my darling," Cas said softly. "She said that they had agreed. Maybe it was her choice, and he is honouring her wishes. If a human has a disease, and if that disease is such that they have no quality of life, it is more merciful to let them pass away, isn't it?"

Gail put her arms around her husband. "I'm so glad we're Angels. We don't have to worry about that kind of thing."

No, Cas thought. Just torture, and severe wounds, and being banished to the Netherworld all alone, without the one you loved. But he didn't say any of that out loud, of course. His job was to comfort his wife.

It took the two of them a little longer, but eventually, they started to make love. They hadn't been together that way since they had left for Saqqara, and each needed the comfort from the other right now. Angels or not, there was a sense of foreboding that hung over the two of them now. Riley and Efram had been Angels. Pamela, too. And, Cas had gone to the Netherworld recently. No, humans weren't the only ones who could be lost forever.

Quinn was sitting in the train station with her cell phone in her hand. She was debating now whether she should board the train, or call Sam back. There had been a certain quality in his voice that she hadn't picked up on during their conversation, but she was thinking about it now. She tried to key in on him, but as any psychic knew, you could seldom force these things. She couldn't get anything from him right now. Nothing at all. But she was downtown at the terminal, and he had been calling from the bunker. Not exactly optimal conditions for mind-reading. But Sam had always been an honest, straightforward individual. If he and Quinn had had problems in the past, and they had, it had been because Sam was too forthright. Surely he would have told her if something was wrong.

So when they called out on the PA system that her train was boarding, Quinn went to the gate and boarded the train.

Nicole had been planning to cook a full dinner for the both of them, but Dean told her not to bother. So the couple were snuggled up together on her couch watching movies and snacking on junk food, and they were attempting to talk about other, more lighthearted subjects.

"We're going out on location in about a month or so, but the first few scenes are going to be shot in the Lower Mainland, so at least I'll be able to come home every night," she told him. "Actually, if you guys have time, I'd love it if you could come by. Cas and Gail, too. Maybe we can stick all of you in a scene, like we did in Egypt. Gail, too, if she wants."

Dean smiled faintly. "That would be kinda fun. We'll see if we can work something out. They're pretty busy, doing stuff for Heaven. But I'll ask, anyway. I'm pretty sure if they can fit it in, they'll come."

"Oh, and you know what else?" Nicole said, her smile widening. "Depending on when you come, it would be fun if you guys could make the Supernatural convention in Vancouver. They're having it next month, before we leave town to go on location."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't know about that. We went to one of those once, and it wasn't very much fun." Especially for Gail, he thought. Metatron had stabbed her to death at the Vegas Supernatural convention, Cas had been a wreck, Becky had been stalking Sam, and Dean had never even gotten the replica car of Baby that Gail had been about to buy for him. He would have to remember to tease her about that, at some point. At least they could laugh about it now. Unlike the situation with poor Jody. Geez, that had been a punch to the gut. But he couldn't think about that right now. If he did, he would lose his damn mind.

Nicole was looking a bit crestfallen now, but she shrugged. "Oh, well. If you can't, you can't," she said.

What the hell was Dean doing? They were just reconnecting, and now, he was finding excuses not to spend time with her. What was the matter with him? Soon, she would be on location with the movie again, and then, he would be bitching that he never saw her.

"I'll talk to Cas. See what we can arrange," Dean told his girlfriend. "Now, come here," he said, lifting the blanket. "I want to put on another movie, and then not watch it."

Nicole laughed, snuggling in next to him.

Vincent knew a lot of things, but he'd had no idea that Sam was sitting all alone in the bunker right now, well on his way to becoming very drunk. It was just a total coincidence that Vincent had designated that evening as being "the night". After he'd had his little temper tantrum with the skull, he had cleaned up the shards and then mixed up a simple potion for Becky to give to Sam. It didn't need to be anything too elaborate, but he wasn't going to tell Becky that, of course. He propped open Rowena's spell book on the dining room table and made it look like he'd been slaving away on it all day, so Becky would be suitably impressed. If she knew how easy some of these spells really were, she might decide that she didn't need Vincent's help, after all. And he was so close now that he didn't want anything to go wrong.

When she got home from the photo shoot, Vincent told her to call Sam, using the Speaker feature on her cell phone. She should try to find out where he was, and what he was doing. Depending on how their conversation went, Vincent was going to be sitting beside her with a pen and a pad of paper, giving her suggestions on how to convince him to meet her for a drink. And then, if she was able to make a date with Sam, Vincent would help her from there.

So Becky called Sam's cell phone number, her heart pounding in her chest, and it skipped a beat when he answered.

"H'lo," Sam said, slurring a bit.

"Hi, Sam. It's Becky. How are you?"

There was silence on the other end. Becky had been about to ask him again, thinking he hadn't heard her, when Sam said in a thick voice, "Not so good, Becky."

She was alarmed. "Why? What's the matter?" Becky could tell that there was something wrong, right away. She could hear it in his voice. It sounded almost like he'd been crying, or something.

Sam was debating with himself now. Did he really want to get into this with her? But then, he decided he was being petty. Becky knew Jody, too. In fact, there had been a time when the three of them had worked side by side right here at this library room table, trying to research ways to defeat Lucifer. The fact that Becky had been more interested in watching TV than in academic pursuits notwithstanding, wasn't Becky entitled to hear that a member of their family was dying?

So Sam told Becky about Jody's diagnosis, and Becky was floored. She definitely hadn't been expecting to hear anything like that. Despite the fact that she was scheming behind Sam's back, her heart went out to him. When she and Sam and Jody had been working together in the bunker, Becky had gotten the feeling that Jody hadn't liked her that much. She'd even thought for a brief period of time that Jody was a threat, because she liked Sam. But then Frank and Jody got married, adopted Rob, and had a baby. It was never Jody who was the threat; it was Gail. Or at least, in Becky's mind she was, anyway.

"Oh, Sam, that's awful!" Becky exclaimed. Then she blurted out, "What are you doing right now?"

Vincent gave her a thumbs-up as Sam said, "Nothing, really." Then he laughed humourlessly. "Getting drunk, and feeling depressed. That's what I'm doing."

"Do you want to get together and talk?" Becky offered. Vincent was impressed. Look at Becky go. She may be dumb as a post about a lot of things, but when it came to something she really wanted, she was obviously motivated enough to raise her IQ a few points. "You could come over here, and we could have a drink and talk. I can make you something to eat."

OK, now she was edging into pathetically eager territory, Vincent thought. But, hey, Sam might go for it. The guy sounded really vulnerable right now. There would never be a better time.

But Sam said, "Thanks, Becky, but I've had too much to drink. I can't drive anywhere right now."

Damn it! Becky thought. But then, she brightened. "I know! I could drive over there!" she said.

Vincent looked at her sharply. Great. Now Becky suddenly thought she was being smart. There was just one problem with what she was suggesting. Well, a couple, actually. He scribbled furiously: "Tell him you'll call him back."

Becky looked at him incredulously. Was Vincent crazy? She had Sam Winchester on the phone right now, drunk and vulnerable, and Vincent expected her to hang up on him? But then, he gave her that dark look that he got sometimes and held up the pad of paper, gesturing emphatically. So Becky thought she'd better do it.

"Sam, I'll call you back in just a moment," Becky said quickly. "Don't go anywhere." She hung up the phone, facing Vincent. "What?"

"Don't use that tone with me," Vincent said menacingly. "If you want my help, you'd better shut your mouth and open your ears. Think about what you're saying. How is Sam supposed to get all romantic at that bunker? With Dean right there, listening to everything you guys say and do? Maybe Cas and Gail will pop in, too, or Bobby. Yeah. Real smart, Becky."

She was dismayed. He was right, but: "Well then, what do you think I should do? If he can't come here and I can't go there, how are supposed to go to bed together?"

Actually, Vincent was wondering that same thing, now. In a rare lapse of judgement on his part, he hadn't considered the venue of Becky and Sam's little assignation. Ideally, Sam would have just come here, but the choir boy in the younger Winchester wouldn't allow him to drive when he'd had a few. And the bunker was not an option. It didn't matter who was there, or not there. It would be quite impossible for an extremely evil individual like Vincent to enter the bunker, due to the warding. And he needed to be wherever Sam and Becky were going to hook up. The entire plan hinged on it.

He had a sudden inspiration. "Call him back, and tell him the magazine has set you up in a fancy downtown hotel room. Tell him they gave you a car, and a chauffeur to drive it around. You'll send the car to go and get him, and bring him back to your hotel. Then the two of you can order room service and talk, until his poor little heart feels better."

Becky's forehead wrinkled. That sounded great, but: "I don't have a hotel room, or a chauffeur," she protested.

"You stupid bitch!" he exploded with rage. His eyes flashed red for a split second, and he pounded his fist on the table. As Becky gasped, Vincent made himself calm down. He took a deep breath. "Go upstairs and pack an overnight bag. If you have any sexy lingerie, throw it in. Couldn't hurt. I'll pour the potion into a flask, that you can put in your purse. Then I'll pop you over to one of the nicer hotels, and then I'll put a chauffeur's cap on and go get the guy myself. How's that for a plan?"

Becky sat there staring at him for a minute. What the hell was the matter with her? Why was she hanging around with a guy like this, listening to what he said? But then, she pictured herself and Sam in a nice hotel room with a big bed. Sam was kissing her neck and pulling her top off, and she was undoing his pants. She could put her hand down his underpants, or she could sit on the bed and take care of him that way, if he wanted. But she would have to make sure to have him inside her before they were done, so his sperm could fertilize one of her eggs.

Becky's neck was warm now, and her heart was pounding in her chest again. If all she had to do was put up with a little attitude from Vincent to find herself in that position with Sam, she would gladly take it. Once she was pregnant with Sam's baby, her modelling career would be over, and she wouldn't need a manager, anyway. And if Vincent caused any trouble for Becky after that, she was sure that Sam would do whatever was necessary to protect their unborn baby. For that matter, so would Becky. She had fought on Cas's team all year when Lucifer's death squads had roamed the Earth. Becky hated violence, but she could take care of herself if she had to. All those biker guys and Demons she had killed in Africa could vouch for that.

She rose from her chair without another word, went upstairs, and packed her bag for the hotel.

Meanwhile, Cas and Gail were experiencing a bit of a role reversal. He was usually the intense one, the one who loved her so much and so ardently that she would have to give him the sign to slow down, sometimes. Then he would rein himself in, for her sake. But after they had received the devastating news about Jody, Gail was the one who seemed insatiable. She was soaking his love up like a sponge. Thinking about Jody's impending death only made Gail want to feel more alive. If that even made any sense.

Cas had his arms around his wife, and she had her head on his chest. She could hear the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. Many times, it was easy to forget that their bodies were merely vessels that held their essences, because they felt all of the sensations that humans did. They could suffer injuries and feel pain, and they could also feel the pleasures of a cool breeze or a refreshing shower, or the wonderful feeling of receiving the kisses and caresses of the person you loved with all your heart and soul.

Cas loved Gail with all of his heart and soul too, and what was just as important, he understood her. The two of them took breaks like this from time to time, to refresh and recharge. They took love and gave love, and once they decided they were sated for the moment, they got up, showered and dressed, and went out to face the challenges they always seemed to have to face. But this particular challenge had been harder to cope with, because there wasn't an enemy to kill, or an artifact to find, nor a puzzle to solve. There was nothing that any of them could do about the malignancy that was growing in Jody's head. That was why it was so scary.

But Gail was starting to feel a little bit self-indulgent now. They needed to get out there and take care of the things that they were able to take care of. There were still Books to find, and bad guys to deal with. If they couldn't do anything for Jody, they should at least make damn sure that her and Frank's kids would have a future.

Cas stirred. "A short while ago, I made a vow to myself that you and I would have as many experiences together as possible, once we complete our missions. I believe humans call that a 'bucket list'. I realized at our Never Have I Ever party that there were a great number of things that you've never had the chance to experience."

She looked up at his face and smiled gently. "That's true," she replied, "although I'm just putting you on notice that I have absolutely no desire to cook naked."

Cas laughed softly, tightening his arms around her. It was good to see Gail making a joke again. He hated it when she cried, because he felt powerless to take away her pain. But she'd had to express her sorrow for their sister-in-law, of course. And for Frank, and for their children.

"I'll tell you what," Cas said to Gail now. "You can choose the activities we'll do, just like in Jamaica. It'll be fun. Once we do our duty by Heaven and Vincent and Raguel are gone, I'll take you anywhere you want to go, and we'll do anything you want to do."

Gail sighed. Bless her husband. He was trying his utmost to cheer her up, by giving her something to look forward to. But, what did Frank have to look forward to? Watching his wife deteriorate, and then die? But Gail couldn't think like that anymore. It would drive her crazy if she did. Maybe Jody would go into remission. She was a strong woman, wasn't she? After all, she'd made a full recovery after having breast cancer. It could happen. Gail was going to go with that. It was the only way she could figure out how to go on.

"Thank you, sweetie," she said to Cas, kissing him on the cheek. "I'd love to do a bunch of things with you, in the future. Thank you for giving me something to look forward to."

Then they were kissing, and then they were making love again. The Books could wait another hour or so.

Sam had no idea what he was doing here. He was drunk, but he'd been way drunker. Of course, he'd been more sober, too. Or was it soberer? Anyway, maybe he just needed someone to unload on. When Becky had called him back, saying that she was at The George, one of the more upscale hotels downtown, Sam had been in the process of pouring himself another drink. He'd been prepared to tell her that he was just going to have a nightcap, and then sleep it off. But she'd told him that she had already sent her chauffeur to pick him up, and she wasn't taking no for an answer. So Sam found himself getting into the back of the limo when it had arrived, and now, he was knocking on Becky's hotel room door.

She let him into the suite. This was unbelievable. Sam was actually here! Vincent was a genius. He'd said she should say her limo was already on the way, making it harder for Sam to refuse. He'd also told her to be sweet and sympathetic, and dress in simple jeans and a T-shirt. If she tried to look sexy, he might suspect something. But she should wear some of her sexiest lingerie underneath, because once Sam felt the effects of the potion, he'd go nuts once he saw it. Worked for Becky.

Sam stood there in the salon area of the hotel suite, weaving on his feet a little. He'd had that drink at the bunker, and he'd had another couple in the limo on the way over. The driver had told him over the Intercom that the magazine had paid for it, and that Sam should enjoy. Vincent had smirked at that. He was in the front seat with his chauffeur's cap pulled low over his brow, but it hadn't mattered. The windows were tinted, and Sam had seated himself in the back. But just to be safe, and just because it was fun, Vincent had used an accent, some kind of weird ethnic hybrid. Sam hadn't appeared to notice.

"Sit down, Sam. Be comfortable. Please," Becky said. She turned her back on him and fixed them both a drink at the bar. Then she brought them over to where Sam sat on the couch, handing him his and sitting down next to him.

"I shouldn't be here," Sam said, but he took the glass from her. "I have a girlfriend."

"So what, Sam? I'm your friend," Becky said. "You need somebody to talk to, don't you? So, I'm here for you. I feel really sad about Jody, too. Remember that time we all did research at the bunker together, you, me, and Jody? She was so nice to me then." Becky made tears come to her eyes. "I can't believe she's going to die."

She put her drink down on the coffee table. Reflexively, so did Sam, and he opened up his arms for a hug. What a sweetheart, Becky thought. No wonder she loved him so much. As she moved into his embrace, she had another brief attack of conscience. But as soon as she felt his arms around her, she got over it. He smelled so nice, and his chest was so firm...

Vincent was watching from the doorway that led to the bedroom. Sam's back was to him, so the younger Winchester couldn't see Gail's father, giving Becky the thumbs-up. He'd told the girl that he was going to stay here until she got Sam into bed, just in case she still needed Vincent's help. But it looked like she was doing just fine, so far.

Becky soaked up Sam's embrace for a couple of minutes, but then she gently extricated herself from his arms and picked up her glass again. She had to make sure Sam drank the potion. "To Jody," she toasted, raising her glass. "Our friend." Sam reached for his glass, too. They touched glasses and drank.

Vincent rolled his eyes, but Becky obviously knew how to manipulate her man, because so far, everything she did was working. Vincent had no particular feeling about Jody one way or the other, but he remembered how calm she had been at the compound, when he had let her in to check on her son's condition. Too bad Angels couldn't get brain tumors, Vincent thought viciously. He would love it if Castiel's brain would grow a big, fat one. But, at least Frank would be suffering. Vincent hadn't forgotten what a smart mouth he had.

A few minutes and a few sips later, Sam was feeling woozy. Considering the amount of alcohol he'd had by now, he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised. He could usually hold his liquor pretty well, but he knew that sometimes, depending on the mood you were in, it hit you harder than at other times.

"I think I need to lay down, for a minute," Sam told Becky.

"You can use my bed," she said, trying not to sound too excited. "Come on," she exhorted him, taking his hand. "You can close your eyes for just a few minutes, and I'll call Room Service and ask them to send up a pot of coffee and some food, to absorb the alcohol. Doesn't that sound good?"

Sam nodded, but that made him feel dizzier, so he stopped. It did sound good, but there was something about what she had just said that was bothering him. What was it? Wait: hadn't she said something about making him dinner at her place, before? No; he must have misunderstood. How could she have done that, if she was staying here?

Becky stood and gave Sam's hand a gentle tug. He followed her meekly to the bedroom. Becky was talking out loud now, making sure that Vincent could hear that they were heading his way.

He could, and he was getting excited, now. He was so close. He melted into the shadows in the corner of the bedroom as Becky brought Sam into the room. She had her arm around his waist now, and his arm was slung around her shoulders. Sam's eyes were at half-mast and the room was dark, so Vincent wasn't too concerned about being seen.

Becky lay Sam gently down on the bed, and then she picked up his legs with a mighty effort and swung them towards the end. Then she put a couple of pillows under his head.

"Thanks, Becky," Sam said, and then he passed out.

She pursed her lips together and looked around for Vincent, gesturing for him to follow her out to the living room area. When they got there, she turned on Vincent and hissed, "What am I supposed to do now? How are we supposed to have sex if he's unconscious?"

"I didn't know he was going to have that much to drink, on top of the potion," Vincent replied calmly. "But, don't worry. Let him sleep for about half an hour, and then he'll wake up in the mood, I promise. Relax, Becky. Let's have a drink. Let him sleep some off that booze off. If worse comes to worst, we'll order some coffee and pour it down his throat. Don't worry. You've got this."

Becky sighed. She was somewhat mollified. Vincent hadn't been wrong yet. At least Sam was in her bed, which was a lot closer than she'd ever gotten before.

Vincent walked over to the bar and fixed them both a drink, glancing surreptitiously at the young woman. She was sitting on the couch again, and her back was to him.

He reached into the inner pocket of the blazer he was wearing and withdrew the flask he had there. When Becky had been doing her photo shoot earlier today, Vincent had made up another, far more special, potion. A few of the ingredients were ancient; things he had been stockpiling for a long time, for just this occasion. Several more were a little bit on the mundane side. And, for the piece de resistance, there were three drops of the old man Papa Legbo's blood, and a couple of drops of water from the Secret Lagoon. But, the main ingredient was yet to come.

He brought their drinks over to where Becky was sitting on the couch. "Here's to that night you've been waiting for, all your life," Vincent said, lifting his glass in a toast. "You're about to get everything you've ever wanted, Becky. And more. Now, drink up. It may be the last drink you're allowed to have, for a while. Pregnant ladies aren't supposed to drink alcohol."

Becky smiled, and then she toasted with her drink. She was both nervous and excited now. For the moment, the anxiety was winning, so she downed the entire drink as Vincent gloated inwardly. Becky. Wasn't she cute. She had this grand plan to seduce Sam and get pregnant with a little Winchester brat, forcing Sam to pop the question. And that might just be what happened, too. Vincent didn't give a damn whether the two of them got married or not. What the hell. If it made the little airhead happy, Vincent supposed she could go right ahead and be Mrs. Sam Winchester. After the next few minutes, Becky would cease to matter to him as a person, anyway.

As the ancient potion did its work on Becky, she started to feel dizzy. Vincent said a few words in a funny-sounding language, and she closed her eyes. Vincent spoke again, and she lay down on the couch.

"I love you, Becky," Sam said. "I've always loved you."

He was on top of her now, and she strained to reach for him. But he was looking at her curiously, staying just out of her reach. "Do you love me, Becky?"

"Yes, of course I love you, Sam," she assured him. "I love you more than anything."

"Then, I need you to do me a favour," he told her. Becky could feel him taking her pants off, and then she could feel him touching her through the silk of her panties. She moaned.

"Pay attention, Becky," Sam said, frowning. "This is really important."

"I'm sorry, Sam. It's hard to concentrate. This feels like a dream," Becky said to him.

Sam grabbed her hand and put it on himself, and she gasped. "Does THIS feel like a dream?" he asked her.

Yes. "No," she said meekly.

"In just a minute, I'm going to be inside you, and we're going to make a baby together," Sam said. He touched Becky again, and she whimpered. "But, when I tell you to, you're going to have to say a certain phrase. It's easy to pronounce, but I need you to say it at the right time. Okay, Becky?"

Her forehead wrinkled, but she was trembling with excitement now. Sure; who cared? She was about to have sex with Sam Winchester!

Poor Becky. Poor, naive, obsessed, little empty-headed Becky. Vincent smiled as he told her the words of the spell that he needed her to say, the moment he gave her The Son. After tonight, Becky was going to have the world's most evil, amoral, psychopathic child the universe had ever known. Vincent's crowning glory. His finest achievement. This one was going to make JD look like a Saint. And, because they were all going to think it was Sam Winchester's baby, everyone would treat it with love and tenderness, even when it misbehaved. They would do their best to teach the kid right from wrong, good morals and ethics, and all that crap. The idea amused Vincent, a lot. It was really ironic that his evil son should be conceived on such a night, a night when they'd learned that one of their own had a dark malignancy growing in her head that was only going to get worse and worse. So it would be with this child, and by the time they all realized what was really going on, it was going to be far too late.

"Sam" told Becky the words he wanted her to say, and then he took her underwear off and pushed himself into her, whispering terms of endearment to the stupid little bitch, in order to keep her happy. The more into it she was, the better the end product would be. Vincent even kissed her a couple of times. Then, when she thought she would be able to take it, Vincent shoved himself into her more roughly, and Becky was smiling now. The slut, Vincent thought. He was amused. So, she liked it a little rough, did she? Well, she'd been barking up the wrong tree with Sam, then, hadn't she? He wasn't the type. But that was OK, because none of this was real, anyway. Prince Charming was out cold in the bedroom, and his Princess was out here, moaning under Vincent's ministrations. But he was wearing Sam's face, of course. He could hardly have shown her his own, especially not his real one.

But it was going to come out in a moment now, because Vincent was closing his eyes, thinking about all the fun he was going to have, making them all suffer. Picturing the pain and anguish on all of their faces when they realized that, while they'd been traipsing around looking for the Books, the real danger had been here in their backyard, all along.

When the time came, Becky said the phrase as she had been instructed, and then, she had screamed it. Vincent smiled. "There's a good girl," he said, kissing her paternally, on the forehead.

Then, Vincent began to take care of business, as Sam and Becky slept on.


	2. The Morning After

Chapter 2 - The Morning After

The morning after actually began the night before.

As Vincent was impregnating Becky with his Unholy child, Cas and Gail were showered and dressed, and in Heaven. They'd spent longer than they probably should have on their break, but they stopped by the reception area at the High Office first, just on the off chance that Laurel would still be there.

Somewhat surprisingly, she was. The couple apologized, but Laurel waved them off. The red files were highly Classified, and Bobby had requested that she take custody of the Seven Wonders file in his absence, until Cas could come there to read it. She took that responsibility very seriously. Besides, Chuck was busy editing and polishing up the scenes for the next Supernatural movie. They were going to be shooting next month, in Vancouver. They should really try to stop by to see Chuck sometime soon, Laurel said to the couple. He was very proud of the script he'd written. He was re-introducing Frank's character to Earth, after a heroic rescue from the depths of Hell, and then he and Jody were going to fall in love and get married, and -

Laurel realized what she was saying, and she regretted it immediately. Bobby had given her a quick call from Frank and Jody's house, advising his receptionist and friend about the devastating news that they had received.

"I'm so sorry," Laurel said quietly. "I didn't mean to...Chuck and I couldn't believe it. Actually, maybe that's why he's doing the editing now. Maybe he's afraid that writing about their relationship would be in poor taste right now."

Gail's eyes misted over. "We haven't got time to see Chuck at the moment, but please tell him not to change a word of what he's written. I think it would be wonderful for them to see the advent of their relationship on screen."

"It certainly was for us," Cas agreed. He looked at his wife. "And at least when the next movie comes out, we'll be able to sit together and hold hands, while we watch it."

Gail smiled up at him. "You know what? It could be that this will give THEM something to look forward to. Everybody needs something to look forward to, right, sweetie?"

Cas was silent for a moment, and then he told the women that he had just sent a quick message to Bobby, to please let Frank and Jody know what Laurel had said about the next movie. He thought that Gail was quite right about the fact that they all needed something to look forward to, especially right now.

Laurel gave him a tight smile. She handed him the thin red Seven Wonders file, then stood from her chair. "Bobby said you can keep it as long as you need to, but please, don't leave it unattended anywhere," she said to him. Cas and Gail exchanged glances. Wow. This "Classified" system was obviously serious business. But, it was strange: Cas could swear he'd seen this file before, when he'd been God. And he might have, too. He was the first one to admit that he hadn't exactly been up-to-date with the paperwork, when he'd held the Office.

Laurel came around the desk, and she surprised Gail by giving her a hug. "I'm so sorry about Jody," Chuck's fiancee said, as Gail hugged her back. "But, please don't give up hope. You never know, Gail. Miracles can happen. We'll all be hoping for the best. I'll tell Chuck what you said."

Laurel walked away, and Gail sniffled. "She's always been so nice to us, hasn't she, sweetie?" she said to Cas, and he nodded in agreement. Then, she turned to look at him. Cas already had the file open, and he was flipping the pages in it.

"The Seven Wonders," Cas said. "None of them exist anymore, except for the Great Pyramid at Giza. But this file makes reference to their modern equivalents, in Las Vegas." He looked up, giving her a tight smile. "This is unbelievable. This information has been right here under our noses, this whole time." He closed the file. "Let's go see Kevin." Cas grabbed her hand, and winked them away.

Sam stirred in the middle of the night, rolling over onto his side. He was still pretty much out of it from the combination of the alcohol and Vincent's potion, but he could feel that there was a woman lying beside him. In his addled state, he thought that it was Quinn. Hadn't he and Quinn talked last night? He couldn't remember exactly what had happened when they'd talked, but they had obviously gotten together. He slipped his arm around her, and she made a happy, contented sound.

Becky couldn't remember exactly what had happened either, but she sure remembered how it had felt. Wow. Sam had surprised her a little by being so aggressive, but she'd put it down to the fact that Vincent had told her that he was putting some lust into the love potion. Becky didn't mind, though. She had been waiting for Sam for so long that she'd been happy to take him any way she could get him. She could feel his arms wrap around her, and she snuggled against him now, happily. Becky was naked under the covers, and as she rolled over to face Sam, she kissed his bare chest. When she'd opened her eyes a crack, she'd noticed that he had his pants on, though. Oh, well. Whatever. A lot of people felt more comfortable wearing some kind of clothing to bed. Becky herself wore pj's most of the time.

Now Sam was snoring lightly, and Becky smiled, closing her eyes again. She put her arm around him, and a minute later, she was asleep again.

Vincent stood in the doorway to the bedroom, smirking. The two lovebirds. Weren't they cute. After Vincent had planted his seed in Becky, he had undressed her all the way and carried her to the bedroom. Then he had taken Sam's shirt off, but that was about as far as he was prepared to go. Not that looking at the Winchester equipment would have crossed Vincent's eyes any, especially not after the things he had done as part of the voodoo cult. Actually, it might be interesting to see if the stereotype held true, Vincent thought, grinning. Sam Winchester was a very tall man. But he hadn't wanted to run the risk of waking Sam before it was time for the big reveal.

Vincent continued to lean against the doorjamb. He could wait. He had the invisibility spell all ready to go, once it was time. It was going to be one hell of a show.

"'Seven verses, seven modern Wonders'," Cas read aloud. "'The Gods' own words will provide release from the Underworld. These Utterances are the Coffin Texts.'"

He looked up at Kevin. "That's a very impressive job," he complimented the young Angel.

Kevin smiled. "Thanks, Cas. Emma helped a lot, too. I sent her for a walk, just so she could stretch her legs and give her eyes a bit of a rest. We've both been working really hard on this stone. Good etching job, by the way," he added, looking at Gail.

"Thanks, Kev," she said, returning his smile. "Considering the circumstances, I'm surprised you can even read my chicken scratches."

Kevin nodded. "Yeah, Gabriel and Paul were telling us about it. Holy moly. That sounded just like the movies. Paul and I were joking that if Indiana Jones and I were there, I could have been Short Round. Gabriel didn't get it."

"It comes and goes," Cas said absently, looking at the markings on the stone. "Have you been able to determine anything about where the actual Book is? These Utterances may be helpful, and we definitely need to make sure that Vincent does not get them, but what about the Book itself?"

"We're still working on that part," Kevin told him. "I've never seen such a complicated version of the ancient language. But from what we've been able to figure out, you'll need those Utterances to figure out where the Book is. We have to fine-tune the translations, but do you see here?" He pointed to a few symbols, about three inches from the top of the stone. Gail peered to where he and Cas were looking. She'd taken the stuff down herself, but it had all been hieroglyphics to her. What did it look like? A hat, some kind of small animal, and an ear of corn. What the hell did that even mean?

But Cas was nodding and looking thoughtful, because of course he was. "We have to combine one word each from the Utterances with - " Cas trailed his finger further down the stone - "these six words here, and the thirteen words combined will reveal the location of the Book of the Dead."

Gail looked to where his finger was pointing. Oh. Right. A sheep, the sun, and...a lightning bolt? Why the hell not? Kevin deserved a promotion. Actually, he deserved a medal.

"You're right; this is the most complex version of the ancient language I've ever seen," Cas agreed.

"Do you think Emma and I could come down to the bunker?" Kevin asked. "I know Sam's got a couple of books on ancient languages I'd like to study. I think some of that's ancient Akkadian, but Emma thinks it's Sumerian."

"It is, and I'm right. You'll see." Emma walked into the room, pushing her glasses up against the bridge of her nose.

"Cas, Gail, this is Emma," Kevin introduced the Angels to each other.

Emma's jaw dropped. "Cas? THE Cas? The used-to-be-God Cas?" she babbled, rushing forward to shake his hand. Then she looked at Gail, smiling delightedly. "Finally! Somebody who's my height!" the young female said, pumping Gail's hand.

Gail was bemused, but Cas's forehead wrinkled. "Why are you wearing glasses?" he asked Emma.

"They help me think," she responded pertly. Then she looked at Kevin. "And it's Sumerian," she told him again.

Cas took out his cell phone. "I'll call Dean, and find out if we can go to the bunker immediately."

Dean and Nicole were in her bed getting some well-earned sleep when Dean's cell phone rang. He rolled over, ignoring it, but it kept on ringing.

"Awww, geez," Dean grumbled, opening his eyes. "What time is it?"

Nicole was looking bleary-eyed, trying to focus on the clock on her nightstand. "Too damn early, that's what time it is," she responded.

Despite how grumpy he felt having been woken up so abruptly, Dean grinned. Nicole was a woman after his own heart. He was glad she wasn't one of those chipper morning people. He swung his legs off the bed and followed the sound of the ringing, picking his pants up off the floor.

Cas. It figured. Damn Angels never wanted anyone to sleep. "This better be good," Dean growled into the phone.

Cas told him where they were, and what they wanted. Dean scowled. "What time is it right now, Cas?"

"Time?" Cas echoed. "I don't know, Dean. There is no time in Heaven."

"Well, there is in Vancouver, and to quote Nicole, it's 'too damn early'!" Dean exclaimed. "You wanna go to the bunker? Go to the bunker! What are you calling ME for?"

It suddenly occurred to Cas that Bobby must have relented and taken Dean to see his girlfriend the night before, and he began to apologize profusely. "That's OK, Cas," Dean said in a calmer tone. "You didn't know, obviously."

"That's right, I didn't," Cas assured him. "I know that Gail and I are welcome at the bunker any time. But I didn't want to just barge in there and wake you and Sam, early in the morning."

Dean looked incredulously at his phone. Cas had to be kidding with this. "So, let me get this straight: you're calling me early in the morning, because you didn't want to wake me early in the morning?"

Nicole burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. That was classic Cas, right there.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, and then Cas said, "Well, when you put it like that, it does sound pretty silly."

But Dean was starting to grin now, and he winked at Nicole. "Oh, I don't know, Buddy. The more I think about it, the more I appreciate how thoughtful that was," Dean said into the phone, as his smile became more wicked. "In fact, just to be on the safe side, you'd better call Sammy and let him know you're coming. You know he's an early riser. This way, you won't startle him. Make him spill hot coffee on himself, or something."

"You're quite right, Dean," Cas said briskly. "I'll do that, right away."

"There you go. See you later, Cas." Dean hung up his phone and placed it on the nightstand, looking smugly at Nicole.

"You're so bad," she told him, but she was smiling.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, why should we be the only ones to suffer? But, since we're up anyway..." He grabbed her around her waist and pulled her on top of him. They kissed for a minute or so, and Dean's hands had just begun to wander when his cell phone rang again.

"Awwww, GEEZ! Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed. "I'm gonna have to figure out how to carve some sigils into my phone."

"Maybe just ignore it, then," Nicole suggested helpfully, but Dean was shaking his head. "This is Cas we're talking about," he said. "If I don't answer, he'll just keep on calling. Or worse, he'll pop over here." He sighed heavily, reaching for his phone. "What, Cas?"

"Sam's not answering his phone," Cas told his friend.

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's probably because he's smarter than me," he said in a long-suffering voice. "Go to the bunker, Cas. Use the library. Do whatever you need to do. Hell, you can use my damn toothbrush, for all I care. Just don't call me again, not for at least...three more hours, okay?" He pressed End Call and tossed the phone back onto the nightstand. Then he rolled over and started to kiss Nicole again.

"I take it Sam's not answering?" she said.

"Yup," Dean replied, nodding. "Like I said, smarter than me."

"Or he's not there," Nicole remarked.

Dean paused to think about that. Then he shrugged. "Well, Sammy's a big boy. I came here; maybe he went to Quinn's. At least she lives in the same town as us." The more he thought about it now, the more logical that seemed to Dean. Sam had probably been seeking comfort last night, the same as Dean had. Jody's news had really knocked them on their asses. Between snacking and rounds of lovemaking, Dean and Nicole had talked at length about Jody's brain tumor, and Nicole had made Dean feel a little better about the situation by citing her grandfather as an example. He'd supposedly been at death's door for years, yet he was still hanging in there, fighting. So, you never knew.

Cas put away his phone. "Dean isn't at the bunker, and Sam's not answering his phone. But Dean said it was all right for us to go ahead and use anything we need at the bunker." He looked at Gail. "Although, why he would invite me to use his toothbrush is a mystery. He knows I don't eat."

Gail's lips were twitching. Knowing Dean as she did, she was thinking that Cas had actually gotten off pretty lightly. There were a lot of other things that Dean could have suggested that Cas do. They should probably have waited until a bit more of a decent hour in Dean's part of the world to call him. But this was what Cas was like sometimes, when he got focused on a mission. And it might just be that he had a little stuff of his own to work out, with regard to Jody's situation. Because Cas was such a brave and stalwart individual, people often tended to forget that he had an extremely soft heart underneath all that armour. Especially when it came to family. And in Cas's case, the sorrow over what was happening with Jody would come with an extra-large helping of guilt. Cas seemed to feel that much of the suffering and tribulation that his family went through was either somehow his fault, or was a burden that he should have to shoulder, instead of them. Gail had never understood why that should be, but at the end of the day, as the saying went, it didn't really matter. When you loved someone with all your heart, you loved all of them, even the parts that you didn't quite understand. Even the parts that drove you nuts. Gail drove Cas nuts too, sometimes. She knew she did. But he never asked her to change, or to do anything differently. Not that she would, anyway, but it was still nice to be loved and accepted unconditionally.

"Let's go to the bunker, sweetie," she said to her husband now, kissing him on the cheek. "We'll just be quiet, in case Sam's still sleeping."

Sam had been, but the ringing of his cell phone had made him start to come to. His phone was in his shirt, which was on the floor.

Vincent broke open the gris-gris bag he had in his pocket and dusted the contents over himself. Seconds later, he was invisible.

Sam was still trying to come out of the fog. His cell phone had stopped ringing, but he was extremely disoriented now. Where the hell was he? He didn't recognize his surroundings.

But before he had the chance to figure it out, Sam's cell phone rang again. He threw the covers off, looking down at himself. Funny; he never slept with his pants on. His head hurt, and his stomach felt queasy. He had probably passed out before he'd had the chance to take them off. But, where the hell WAS he? Had he and Quinn gotten a hotel room? He glanced back at the bed. She was wrapped up in the covers. So, he HADN'T imagined cuddling her in the middle of the night. Sam smiled. It had been really good of her to come see him from...where had she said that she was, again?

His phone was still ringing. Sam walked over to where his shirt lay on the floor. He picked it up and fished into the pocket for his cell phone, looking at the Display. He didn't recognize the number.

"Hello?" Sam said tentatively.

"Hi, Sam, it's Quinn," his girlfriend said. "How are you doing?"

Dean tried to get back to sleep after he and Nicole had made love, but his brain was starting to go to work, now. Sammy had been well on his way to being drunk when they'd been at Frank and Jody's, but Rob had volunteered to drive Dean's younger brother home. But then, how could Sam have gotten to Quinn's? Unless he had taken a cab, maybe. Or maybe he was just in his room, sleeping it off and ignoring Cas's call. But now that Dean had thought about it some more, that didn't really sit right with him, either. For all the grousing they did about Cas calling at all hours, the simple fact was that he seldom did. And when he did, it was usually regarding something important. Would Sam have just ignored Cas's call, then? Dean hadn't.

So Dean had talked to Nicole about it, and she'd nodded in understanding. Dean had told her that Sam had been devastated by Jody's news. They had all been, of course, but Sam and Jody had been particularly close over the years. Maybe Dean should just check in with his brother. Make sure Sammy was dealing.

"I get it," Nicole told Dean. "Why don't you give Cas a call, and see if he can give you a lift back to the bunker? You and Sam need to be together, right now. I'll be around for at least another month. We'll get together again."

"Thanks, Nicole," Dean said, giving her a kiss. "Thanks for being so understanding about this. I'll talk to Cas. See if the four of us can spare some time to come and see some filming. Maybe we'll even go to the convention. Gail still owes me a model of Baby." He gathered up his clothes, and headed off to the shower.

"Quinn?!" Sam exclaimed, shocked. But, if she was on the phone, then who was...?

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," she told him. "You didn't sound like yourself last night. I just got back from breakfast, and I'm about to go to the Expo. But I just wanted to check in, first."

The Expo? What was she - oh. Oh, God. Sam looked back at the bed. What had he done?

Becky poked her head out from under the covers. "Hi, Sam! Good morning!" she said brightly.

Sam stood there, rooted to the spot. He was paralyzed with shock now. This had to be a bad dream. But then, it got even worse. Becky was looking around the room, with a puzzled expression. "Where's my underwear?" she asked him.

Vincent was invisible, but he had to exercise a lot of self-control not to burst out laughing. This was just too good. Sam should see the look on his face. Vincent was glad he'd hung around for the show. Served Sam right, for burning Vincent's son. Well, that was OK. The 2.0 that was already cooking in Becky's belly right now would be a more than adequate replacement.

"Sam?" Quinn said coldly. "Do you want to tell me what the hell is going on right now?"

"I'm not sure," he said quietly.

"You're not sure," she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "There's a girl with you, saying good morning, and asking you where her underwear is, and you don't know. What kind of an idiot do you take me for?"

"Quinn - I - " Sam stammered, and Becky smiled. She couldn't help it. Oh, well. Too bad for Quinn. Becky had Sam now, and she didn't intend to let him go. She wondered if Vincent's potion had worked. Was she pregnant with Sam's baby right now? A thrill of excitement went through her. Where was Vincent now?

He was watching with great amusement, as Sam's mouth opened and closed, then opened again. He looked like the world's tallest fish.

"Just answer me one question, and answer it honestly," Quinn said angrily. "Did you sleep with another woman last night?"

"I...I guess I did," Sam stammered.

"Well, I'll give you points for honesty, at least," Quinn said bitterly. "Who was it? Gail?"

Sam laughed reflexively, regretting it an instant later. But, it was just so ridiculous. Ever since they'd started going out together, Quinn had been paranoid about Gail. No matter how many times Sam had told her that Gail and Cas were happily married, it didn't seem to matter to Quinn. How could she think that Sam would do something like that to Cas? And, more importantly, how could she think that GAIL would?

"What? No!" he said indignantly. "Gail would never do something like that!"

"Way to defend her virtue, Sam," Quinn said dryly. "So it's some random bimbo you're with, then? Well, then, that makes it all right! Right?"

"Yeah, I mean, no, Quinn," Sam said, running his hand through his hair. "No, it doesn't make it all right. It's Becky," he blurted out, struggling to explain. "I remember, now. You were leaving town, and she called, and I needed somebody to talk to, and I guess I must have gotten really drunk, and - "

"No. That's it. I don't want to hear any more," Quinn interrupted him. "I thought you were a better person that that, Sam. You know what? Fine. Have fun with empty-headed Becky. I hope she's good in bed, because she's not going to understand a damn word you say, once you get out of it! Oh, and in case what I'm saying is in any way unclear to you, we're finished!"

Quinn hung up, leaving Sam to stand there, gaping at his phone. What the hell had just happened here? He stared at Becky, open-mouthed. She had climbed back into bed now, and she had the covers demurely pulled up to her chin. Even though Becky was thrilled that Quinn had found out about her and Sam so soon, she'd felt a little guilty about running around the room naked while Quinn was still on the phone. Besides, Becky had been hoping that Sam would come back to bed. They'd both been a little too sleepy last night for Becky to enjoy the full benefit of having sex with the man she'd been crushing on for years.

"Come back to bed, Sam," Becky said, gesturing to him. "I'm cold."

He looked at her, incredulous. Sam felt as if someone had come along, taken his life, and thrown it into a tumble dryer, all of a sudden. He slowly shuffled back to the bed with his cell phone still in his hand.

"What happened here last night, Becky?" Sam asked her softly.

"You don't remember?" she said, pouting. "We had a drink together, and then we made love."

Poor Becky, Vincent thought, smirking. She finally gets to do the deed with the love of her life, and he doesn't even remember it. Sucked to be her. But of course Sam wouldn't remember. It hadn't been him. Vincent had been wearing his Sam Winchester face at the time. This was too funny. It was like one of those old movies, fraught with entendres and misunderstandings. Look at Sam's face. He was trying to do the math now. But, no matter if he added three and seven, six and four, or five and five, he couldn't come up with any other conclusion.

"I'm sorry, Becky," Sam said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He started to put his shirt on, slowly buttoning it up.

"I'M not," Becky blurted out. "I love you, Sam. I always have. You know that. And last night, you showed me that you love me, too."

Vincent was impressed. Atta girl, Becky. She was going for broke now, giving Sam the wide eyes and the trembly lower lip. Hold the presses, he thought. We might have another contender for Oscar season.

Sam was mortified. What the hell was the matter with him? Sure, he'd been extremely upset about Jody's news and sure, he'd obviously gotten very, very drunk last night. But, this? This wasn't who he was. How had he allowed this to happen?

"You don't have to be sorry for anything, Sam," Becky went on. "You were fantastic. Just like I always imagined you would be. I saved myself for you all these years, and I'm so glad I did."

Sam's jaw dropped. "You...saved...You were a virgin?"

As Becky nodded, Sam put his cell phone in his pocket and then he bent at the waist, putting his head in his hands. Great. Just great. This just kept getting better and better. Now he felt like the lowest scumbag on the earth.

The man who currently held that title was absolutely loving this. Vincent had been even more thrilled when he had discovered that Becky was a virgin. She had told him that, when they had first talked about her feelings for Sam. That had been one of her main selling points, as far as Vincent was concerned. He really couldn't have scripted this any better. After all, wasn't Jesus Christ born of a virgin, impregnated by an ancient entity? So it was only fitting that his opposite number should be, as well. And, speaking of JC, wasn't it funny that nobody in the Sainted circle that Sam Winchester ran with never mentioned him? All of those Angels and Archangels and God-loving, holier-than-thou types they had hanging around that bunker, even an actual God or two, but no Jesus? Nor even any mention of him? He must be dead, then. Good. So much the better for Vincent, and his son. Even if he never found the Books, Vincent could wreak an awful lot of destruction with the anti-Christ for a son. And as far as the rumours about a Chosen One went, Vincent didn't believe them. That was a fairy tale, a story that made the rounds in churches, and Bible study groups, told from member to member so that they could sleep snugly in their beds at night. But there was no Christ, no Chosen One, and God was just a man who wore a beard and a trucker hat.

Sam was still trying to process the notion that Becky had been a virgin up until last night. "But, you were dating Chuck when we first met," he said to her. "And then, you and Kevin - "

Becky's face screwed up. Ewww. "No," she said. "They were both OK to me, but they weren't you, Sam. It's always been you."

Sam was starting to feel a little creeped out now. What was this, anyway? A really bad soap opera? Becky was looking at him like...well, like Cas looked at Gail. But this was his own fault, wasn't it? He had brought this whole thing on himself.

As he was trying to figure out a way to tell Becky that he didn't feel the same way about her that wouldn't send him straight down to Hell, Becky threw the covers off and sprang out of the bed. She raced out to the salon area and started picking her clothes up off the floor. Sam followed her, though he still didn't know what he was going to say.

Becky started to get dressed, as quickly as she could. She felt humiliated now. Sam was looking at her like she was the Creature From the Black Lagoon, or something. But he was the one who had cheated on his girlfriend. "You can leave now," she told him angrily.

"Becky..." he said, but that was it, because that was all he had.

"If you apologize one more time, I swear to God I'm going to take that corkscrew that's over there at the bar and stick it right in your eye," Becky said viciously. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

Sam turned away from her and exited, out the front door of the suite. He checked the pocket where he usually kept his wallet and was relieved to find that he had it. No chauffeur-driven limo ride for him this morning, but at least he wouldn't have to do the Walk of Shame all the way from here back to the bunker.

He pressed the button for the elevator.

Vincent shook off the spell and walked from the bedroom into the salon area, where Becky was still angrily pulling on her clothes.

"That. Was. Excellent," he told her, grinning. "Best show I've seen all year. I especially liked that part about the corkscrew. Nice touch."

Becky glared at him, but it was funny: she wasn't crying any more. Sam's reaction had hurt her, but it hadn't been completely unexpected, had it? Becky felt a kind of calm descend on her now, a sense of serenity she hadn't ever felt before when it came to Sam. She touched her abdomen. Becky was sure she could feel Sam's little son growing inside of her already. But, that was crazy. How could that be?

Vincent was still grinning. "You can feel him, can't you?" he asked Becky.

"I can," she said, dazed.

"It's too bad you feel like you're going to puke your guts out, though," Vincent added casually, shaking his head.

Suddenly, Becky's hands flew to her mouth and she ran out of the room, gagging.

Vincent sat down and put his feet up on the coffee table. He wondered if the gift shop downstairs sold cigars.

The Angels had been in the bunker for about an hour when Dean called Cas's cell phone, asking for a lift home.

"Will you be all right for a minute, my love?" he asked Gail, and she smiled, shaking her head slowly. Ever since last night, Cas had been extra sweet and solicitous of her. She was better now that she had something to keep her mind occupied, but he knew how upset she still was over Jody and her situation. So Cas was overcompensating now, treating her like fine china. When they'd first gotten to the bunker, he had pulled out her usual chair for her, and she had sat down in it. But after a moment's discussion, Kevin had told her what books he was hoping to look at, and because Gail had spent so much time in the library here, she knew where they were. So she'd gotten up and fetched the books. Then Cas had pulled her chair out for her again. But then, Emma had asked for another book, so Gail had gotten back up. She'd delivered the book to the young Angels, and Cas had gone for her chair again.

Gail smiled, touching his face. "You're very sweet, Cas," she said. "I know what you're trying to do. But, please stop. It's OK. Let's just limit the chivalrous acts to...say...a half dozen a day, or so. I don't want you to tire yourself out."

"Did you know that the word 'chivalry' is derived from the French word 'chevalerie'?" Emma piped up. "The translation of chevalerie is - "

"I know what it is," Cas interrupted, bemused. He took Gail's hand, kissing it gently. "The literal translation is 'the skills to handle a horse'."

"Well, all I can say about that is...'Neigh'," Gail quipped mischievously.

That was when Cas's cell phone had rung. Gail continued to hover, in case the young Angels needed her help, but they were working quietly. Had she been able to attend an institution of higher learning in her human life, instead of having to flee Demons, Gail would have been immediately reminded of study hall. She was reduced to just sitting there, staring straight ahead, not wanting to disturb Kevin and Emma in case they had a breakthrough. But now that she had all this time to think, Gail was starting to slip into sadness and fear again. How long did people with brain tumors generally live? Was it going to just keep growing? If it was too big to cut out, couldn't they just zap it, or something? She had way too little information to know just how worried she should really be. Maybe she should look at Google. But then again, maybe not. A little information may be a dangerous thing sometimes, but there was such a thing as way too much information, too. Gail was scared enough right now, as it was.

"A-ha!" Emma exclaimed triumphantly. She pointed to something on the stone, elbowing Kevin, who had elected to sit next to her so that they could share the reference materials. "Sumerian!" Emma added happily.

Kevin looked to where she was pointing, and then at the spot where she'd been looking in one of the books. "What can I say?" Kevin acknowledged with a smile. "When you're right, you're right."

"Next time, we'll make it a bet," she said pertly.

Gail was watching the two of them interact with each other, and she realized something now: Kevin liked Emma. But, she'd thought he was...never mind. Good for him. And it seemed like Emma liked Kevin back, too. And that was terrific. The more love in their family, the better. Then again, maybe that thought was a little premature. Still, it was nice to see.

Cas popped back in with Dean in tow, and the first thing Dean asked was whether Sam was there.

Gail's forehead wrinkled. "I just assumed he was sleeping. We've been trying to be quiet, and not wake him."

Dean gave Cas a momentary glare. "Well, well. Isn't that considerate," he said dryly.

"Why would you ask if he was here?" Gail persisted, curious. "Where else would he be?"

"Quinn's, maybe," Dean responded, and she nodded. Oh. Seemed logical to her. They had all needed the comfort of their loved ones last night.

"Hey, Kev," Dean said to the young Angel.

"Hi, Dean," Kevin said affably. "This is Emma. My assistant. Dean and Sam live here," he told Emma, and she nodded. "Cool," she said, turning back to her notes.

"I'm gonna go make some coffee," Dean told Cas. "What's the plan?"

"It looks like we'll have to go to Las Vegas," Cas replied. He pointed to the red file, which was sitting beside Kevin on the library table. "That file has seven locations in Las Vegas, where the Utterances for the Coffin Texts are supposed to be."

"What'd you say?" Dean said, smirking. "I stopped listening after 'Las Vegas'. Now, I have one more question: How soon do we leave?"

Cas looked at his friend. He knew Dean well enough to have anticipated that this would be his reaction. Ordinarily, he might have said that there was no need for Dean and Sam to come, because there was no need for them to come. Cas and Gail could simply pop around to all seven locations, take down the verses, and be back by nightfall. But Cas had been deeply affected by Jody's news too, and he was now acutely aware of the fact that any of their human family could die at any time. The Winchesters should live longer natural lives due to their brief stay in the Garden, but the sort of lives they led would seem to suggest that there were a lot of other ways that they could die. Also, there were things like disease, or even accidents. And there was no guarantee which realm they would be sent to when they did die. Those types of decisions were out of Cas's hands. Bobby's, too. Death decided that, and Cas and Death weren't exactly on the best of terms. If the brothers were to go to the Netherworld, Cas and Gail would be unable to see them, or have any contact with them. The brothers might not even be sent there together. Death claimed that he held no personal interest in the disposition of souls, but Castiel was certain that Death was a liar. Like most ancient beings, Death remembered slights, perceived or otherwise, and held grudges, as a result. The last time the two had met, when Cas had been sent back to the Netherworld after having killed Ammit, he had threatened his way out of that realm. Death would not forget that.

So Cas smiled at Dean and said, ""If you and Sam would care to pack and get the car ready, we can leave shortly."

Dean's face lit up, and he clapped Cas on the shoulder. "That'll be worth waking Sammy up for."

"You're going to drive?" Emma asked them curiously.

"Uh...yeah," Dean replied, giving her a funny look.

Emma looked at him over the top of her glasses. "When a car going 60 miles per hour hits a mosquito going one mile per hour in the opposite direction, the car slows by one-millionth of a mile per hour."

Dean did a double-take. He opened his mouth, then closed it. What the - ? He looked at Kevin, who shrugged. Emma was already looking at her notes again, pushing the glasses she didn't need against the bridge of her nose.

Gail laughed at the look on Dean's face. Emma's non sequiturs were going to take a little getting used to. "Well then, we'd better hurry up and get going," Gail quipped. "Who knows how many mosquitoes we'll hit along the way?"

Dean looked at Gail now, then at Emma, then back at Gail. He threw his hands up in surrender, and then he went down the corridor to wake Sam up.

But Sam wasn't there, of course. Dean called his brother on his cell phone, and Sam advised that he was cabbing it home. He would see everyone shortly, he told Dean.

Sam sat back in the back seat of the taxi, looking out the window. He felt just awful about what he'd done, on several different levels. Granted, he and Quinn had never made any sort of commitment to each other, but Sam was not the type of guy to run around bedding multiple women at the same time, anyway. If he'd wanted to see another woman, he would have told Quinn, so they could make a clean break of things. But this looked bad, and he knew it. Now that the fog from the night before had lifted and his head was clear again, Sam remembered that Quinn had told him last night that she was leaving town. Then, she calls him this morning, and he's in bed with another woman? He wasn't exactly coming off very well, here. And even though he'd been extremely depressed over Jody's diagnosis, that was no excuse. Taking Becky to bed had been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Becky had been in love with Sam for years, and everybody knew it. He'd managed to hold her at arms' length for a long time. That had been made easier by the fact that they didn't really move in the same circles any more. But now, Sam had made the most stupid-ass, bonehead move he could ever have made. What the hell was the matter with him?

Dean had told him that Cas and Gail were inviting them to Las Vegas on the latest mission, and Sam thought that could be just the kind of distraction he needed right now. Plus, it might not be a bad idea to leave town for a couple of days, just in case Becky was going to get a little bit stalker-ish. It was the coward's way out, he knew, but he just couldn't deal, right now. He hadn't even had the time to process the fact that Jody had a malignant brain tumor yet, let alone the fact that Quinn had dumped him again, and he had taken Becky's virginity. Sam might as well go to Las Vegas and sin his brains out, 'cause he was going straight to Hell.

A short while later, Sam entered the bunker door and walked slowly down the stairs. "Finally!" Dean said. "Get a move on, Lover Boy. We're leaving in about an hour, so I hope you got some sleep at Quinn's place."

Sam said nothing. He had been debating in the cab whether or not to tell Dean the truth about where he'd really been, and endure the inevitable abuse he was going to have to suffer at his brother's hands. Then, when Dean had advised that Cas and Gail were there, Sam had thought about it some more. Did he really want his Angel friends to know what a rotten thing he'd done? No; he really didn't. And when Sam saw that Kevin was there, with a young girl he didn't recognize, Sam's mind was made up. Kevin and Becky had been over for a long time now, but still...

So Sam assured Dean that he'd gotten plenty of sleep the night before, and he asked Cas how long he thought they might be in Vegas. A day, maybe? Two? he'd said hopefully.

Sam had been prepared for Cas to frown and tell him that they were going there on a mission for Heaven, not a pleasure trip. But their friend had surprised Sam by giving him a tight smile and saying, "We'll see, Sam. We'll see."

"Do you think we could take a couple of these books with us, for further study?" Kevin asked Sam, and the younger Winchester nodded. "Sure, I don't see why not." He was looking at Emma curiously now, and Kevin said, "Oh, sorry. This is Emma."

"Hi, Emma. How are you?" Sam said politely.

She looked up from her work, and her head tilted upwards, higher and higher, until her eyes reached his face. "Wow," she said, her mouth agape. Gail's lips twitched. That was how she felt every time she looked at Sam from a seated position.

Sam was faintly amused too, but he still felt too weird to make a joke, as he normally might have. So he mumbled a greeting, then headed off to his room. Cas looked after him curiously. Perhaps Sam was just hung over.

There was silence for a moment, and then Emma said, "It would take 29 million years for a car travelling one hundred miles per hour to reach the nearest star."

They all looked at her. Gail was smiling now. She thought she might be starting to figure Emma out. The glasses, the bookishness, the awkwardness around people...Emma was Gail. Or at least, the Gail who would have been, had she not met the Winchesters, and her beloved Cas. She felt a wave of affection toward the girl. Emma obviously used facts and trivia she had learned somewhere along the way as a way to communicate with people. It was a little left of centre, but it was endearing, too.

Kevin and Emma gathered up the books, the stone, and their notes and went back up to Heaven, telling Cas that they would keep him apprised of any further breakthroughs. Cas thanked the young Angels, advising them that he and Gail would stop by when they got back from Las Vegas.

A short while later, the quartet were packed and in the Impala, heading west. To get his mind off his personal issues, Sam was attempting to apply his intellect to the situation at hand. "So, let me get this straight," he said, looking at Cas, who was in his usual spot in the back seat. "The Book of the Dead is divided into two parts: the Pyramid Texts, which are on the stone Kevin has, and the Coffin Texts. Right?"

"Yes, Sam," Cas confirmed. "The Coffin Texts are made up of 7 Utterances, which are the verses that we are going to Las Vegas to obtain." He patted the pieces of paper he'd taken from the red file, which were currently nestled in his jacket pocket. "I have the locations of the verses here. All we have to do is record them, and bring them back to Kevin. Then, we will have to piece together an anagram, to reveal the actual location of the Book of the Dead."

"Sounds pretty simple," Sam remarked.

"I'm looking forward to being able to use a pen and paper this time," Gail commented with a wry smile. "Oh, and not being sold into slavery will be a nice change of pace, too."

"What does that Vincent dick want with the stupid Book, anyway?" Dean asked. "Anybody know?"

"I can only surmise that he wants to use it to call forth the dead," Cas replied grimly. "There is also the Book of Life, which is out there somewhere. That is the Book that Raguel is interested in. He believes he can use it to rule Heaven. The Book of Life can also bring a specific person back from the dead, but the person who is calling that individual forth must be in possession of that person's ashes, or share DNA with the deceased individual."

Sam was thoughtful, thinking about the implications of what Cas was saying. But Dean's forehead wrinkled. "So, what you're saying is: the Book of the Dead can bring back a bunch of dead guys, but the Book of Life can only bring back one specific one?"

"Pretty much, Dean," Cas agreed. "That is my understanding of the way it works, anyway."

"Great. An army of zombies, versus one dead dealer's-choice douchebag. Awesome," Dean commented sardonically.

Cas took Gail's hand. She was looking apprehensive. Dean was being so matter-of-fact about it. They all were. But then again, he and Sam and Cas had averted the Apocalypse, before she had even come into their lives. This was probably a pretty ordinary situation for them.

As the four of them were driving to their mission, Vincent was delivering Becky back to her place.

"If you want to, you should continue on modelling for as long as you can," he told her. "Once you start to show, it'll be all over, but it wouldn't hurt for you to earn some extra money in the meantime. Sir Winchester will probably be your meal ticket once he finds out, but it never hurts for a girl to have a little nest egg. Right?"

Becky nodded slowly, but she was still in a daze. It had all happened so fast. It seemed so unreal. She put her hand on her abdomen. How could she know she was pregnant already? It had been less than a day. That was impossible. Yet somehow, she just knew. She could almost feel the baby, moving in her uterus.

Vincent was staring at her. Actually, she probably COULD feel it already. The type of child he had put in there would grow at an accelerated rate, if unchecked. If Vincent had his way, the kid would be out of there and raring to go next week, but he would just have to grit his teeth and slow his roll. They were all supposed to believe this was Sam Winchester's baby, so he couldn't allow it to grow too fast.

"I'll be bringing you a health drink every couple of days, Little Mother," Vincent said to the girl in as soothing a voice as he could muster. "Then, in a couple of months, you can give Sam the wonderful news. Maybe at Christmas." Vincent giggled. He honestly hadn't planned it that way, but this was shaping up to be the best damn timing for anything, ever.

"Yeah. Except Sam ran out of there like I was some kind of monster, or something," Becky said glumly.

"Wait till he's had a little time to recover," Vincent said confidently. "By the time Christmas rolls around, and everybody's in the sentimental family mood, you can tell him. It'll be great. I promise. I'll be back tomorrow with your health shake. From now on, it'll be all about you, Becky. Anything you want. Anything you need." He pulled her gently towards him and kissed her on the forehead. "Now, get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow."

Then Vincent vanished, and Becky smiled warmly. He really did care about her. Just like an uncle, or a father. She went to the kitchen to see what there was to eat.

1 - THE LUXOR - MADMAN ACROSS THE WATER

"You know, I'm really starting to develop an aversion to pyramids," Gail told the men half-jokingly, as they pulled into the parking garage for the hotel.

"I thought you might say that, my love," Cas said, stretching his limbs from the long car ride. "That was why I thought we would come here, first. If we can collect the first Utterance here, we can stay wherever you like. Sam and Dean will need some rest, from our long trip."

The brothers exchanged puzzled glances. Since when? Traditionally, Cas had to be periodically reminded that they were human beings who required food and sleep, every now and then.

Dean grinned. "Well, since you're talking about things we need, how about we go up to the casino, before we do anything else? I need a whiz, and a cold beer."

Cas made no protest, so Dean paid for their parking at the machine in the underground area, and they took the elevator upstairs.

As they walked through the casino to the bar, Gail noticed that there was a slot machine called Riches of the Nile that advertised the "Pyramid Jackpot". "Okay, now, we're talking," she quipped. She tapped Cas on the arm. "Why don't you guys go ahead, and I'll catch up to you?" she said to her husband. "I think that Pyramid owes me."

Cas was already reaching into his wallet. He handed her several bills and she kissed him on the cheek, then headed off towards the bank of machines.

"Wow, you're just a big ol' ATM, aren't you?" Dean teased Cas. "In that case, you can buy us a beer."

Cas looked at his friend calmly. "I would be glad to buy you and Sam a beer. Then perhaps, the next time that Gail needs some money, you will give her some."

As Dean looked at him suspiciously, wondering if Cas was joking, Sam elbowed his brother. "I'd be careful, if I were you. That sounds like a trap," Sam said, grinning.

Gail came to the bar about fifteen minutes later, frowning. "I don't think I'm lucky at gambling, any more," she complained. "The stupid thing ate my money."

"That's OK; Dean'll give you more," Sam joked.

"No, that's all right. I'd probably just lose that, too," she said, shrugging. Then she brightened. "But, I did see a sign for something I'd really like to do, if we can spare a few minutes."

"What's that, my love?" Cas asked, putting his arm around her waist.

"They have an exhibit here with relics from The Titanic," she said.

Cas smiled. "Really? I would love to see that," he remarked.

Sam and Dean looked at each other quizzically. Who was this guy, and what had he done with Cas? Usually, Cas was Major Buzzkill, the guy who was always reminding them that they had business to take care of.

Cas looked at the brothers. "Would the two of you like to go with us, or should we meet you back here afterwards?"

"I'd like to go," Sam spoke up.

"Sure. What the hell. I'm in," Dean said, throwing money down on the bar for his and Sam's beers. "As long as they don't play that stupid song."

"What song is that, Dean?" Gail said, her lips twitching.

"It's OK; I know he saw the movie," Sam told her. "He thinks I don't know, but I know."

"Why would you be embarrassed about that, Dean?" Cas asked his friend, puzzled. "It was a wonderful movie."

"Well, up until that last part, anyway," Sam said, smirking.

Dean wanted to get the focus off the fact that he'd seen what was arguably a huge chick flick, so he nudged Gail now. "Hey, is that your Pyramid machine over there?"

"Yeah," she said, scowling.

"Hang on, Cas. Lemme try it, for a minute," Dean said, veering off toward the bank of machines. He put a bill in the end machine. "OK, what do you do, here?" he asked Gail. He pushed the button. "That? Is that it?"

"No!" she exclaimed, grabbing his button-pushing hand. "If you want to play for the Jackpot, you have to bet more."

"But it says it's a one-cent machine," he protested.

Gail rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Per line," she told him. She pressed two buttons. "THIS is what you have to bet for a chance at the Pyramid Jackpot."

Dean did the math in his head. "But...that's a dollar!" He looked at Gail as if she had two heads. "A dollar a spin?"

She rolled her eyes again. "Yes, Dean. Why do you think I came back so quickly? You didn't really think you were going to win a jackpot that size betting only one penny, did you? This isn't like one of those scenes in the movies, where the person steps up, puts one lone coin in the machine, and the bells and sirens go off."

Dean was pushing the button. "Huh? What'd you say? I stopped listening after 'jackpot'." He pushed the button again, and five black scarab beetles appeared on the screen. He paused, peering at the display. "That's gotta be something, right?"

"Not necessarily," Sam remarked. "Some of the pay lines on these machines are weird."

"Whatever," Dean said, shrugging. He was getting annoyed now. "If I get five of something, I expect to get something for it. Cheap bastards." He hit the button again, but nothing happened. The machine appeared to be frozen. Then, the "Call Attendant" light went on.

"Oh, great," Dean groused. "Now, it's broken."

"Maybe you did win something, and they're coming to tell you about it," Cas said optimistically.

"No, it's probably broken," Gail said glumly. "Look. It's bugs. No good can come from that. Sorry, Dean. I think I'm just really bad luck, lately. Maybe we should just go, before the machine opens up and a fist comes out to punch you in the face."

The slot attendant arrived. "Oh! Congratulations, Sir," she said to Dean.

"What for?" he asked, watching her face closely to see if she was being sarcastic.

The girl was puzzled. "For winning a jackpot."

"He didn't win the Jackpot. That's five Pyramids," Gail pointed out.

"I didn't say he won THE Jackpot; I said he won A jackpot," the attendant corrected her. "That's the secondary prize. Eighty-six thousand dollars."

"No freakin' way," Dean breathed. He started to smile. "In your face!" he taunted Gail. She glared at him momentarily, but then her expression relaxed. Hey, he had won it fair and square.

"I'll be right back, after we authenticate the win," the slot attendant said. As she moved away from the group, Cas said, "Congratulations, Dean. What are you going to do with your winnings?"

"I'm gonna pay our way into this Titanic thing, and then I'm going to donate the rest to Cops For Cancer," Dean replied.

Gail launched herself into his arms, thanking him, and Dean returned her hug. "Hey, even I know a sign when I see one," he joked lightly. "You've gotta have faith; right, you guys?"

Predictably enough, Gail started to cry, and Dean pulled gently out of her embrace. "Hey, now, stop it," he told her. "You're leaking all over my shirt. Stop being such a crybaby."

"The phrase is: 'WHINY crybaby'," she joked weakly, sniffling back the tears.

Then the two of them shared a brief smile. Before the quartet had left the bunker for Las Vegas, they had called Frank on Dean's cell phone, activating the Speaker feature so that they could all offer Jody and the family their love and support. Jody had a headache and was laying down, Frank had said, but he would pass that along. They had all offered to do anything the couple might need. All they had to do was call. Even if the group were out of town, Gail or Cas could pop over immediately. Frank had thanked them, dryly remarking that he knew a guy named Bobby who might be able to be of some assistance, as well. But Frank was just being Frank, and they all knew his gratitude was sincere. He knew their offers were, as well. So many times in this type of situation, the offers to help were token, at best. But not in this case, and not with this family. That was what family was to each other. But Frank hadn't been above being his usual smartass self either, telling Gail to enjoy Vegas, and not to be such a whiny crybaby all the time. He knew his sister very well. Then he'd told them to go get 'em, said that he had things to do, and then hung up.

Gail wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, and by the time the attendant came back, she had composed herself. Frank was right; she couldn't run around being a whiny crybaby all the time. They'd gotten through all kinds of adversity as a family before, hadn't they? Cas put his arm around her shoulders, and all four of them gave each other a brief nod. They would take care of what they COULD take care of, and as far as the rest went?

"Hey, you've gotta have faith," Gail confirmed, nudging Dean gently as he gave her a thumbs-up.

"Drink up, everyone! Papa is buying!" Vincent called out to his followers.

Barnabas had closed The Embarrassed Tiki for a private party at Vincent's behest, and the place was jumping. Every member of the cult was there, including a few of the fringe members, and some brand new inductees. Vincent was pleased to see that there was some nice young blood included in the latter category. No pun intended. They'd been drinking and dancing for a while, and most of them were smoking the cigars that Vincent had tossed out to everyone when he'd first arrived.

The drunker the group got, the worse they behaved. Two young men got into a fight, smashing bottles on the bar and jabbing them at each other. Rather than break up the fight, the group exhorted them on. But then when one guy got the upper hand, Vincent had clapped his hands sharply together, and said that was enough. Today was a day for celebration. So Phineas and Barnabas had pulled the two young bucks apart and given them more alcohol, and they were currently dancing with a couple of the girls.

Vincent was sitting in the back booth with one arm around Blaise, and the other around Placida. Blaise had her hand on his thigh, and Vincent was grinning. He leaned down to give the younger woman a kiss, and Placida smiled. She had absolutely no problem with Vincent spreading the love around within their group. All of those years after she had inducted him into their group, no matter how many little brats he had sired, he had always come back to Placida, and their Caribbean family. The two of them had had the most open relationship that whole time, and Placida was absolutely fine with that. And Vincent clearly was, too. Placida had given birth to Blaise, whose father could be any one of a number of different men, although she'd always claimed the father was Phineas. Placida had wanted a child to replace Raymond, her son by Vincent. Once their boy had grown to be a man, he had turned his back on them and their ways, and moved to the United States, to become a Christian, of all things.

No, Placida wasn't upset about Vincent enjoying the pleasures of the flesh with any other woman. Or man, for that matter. What she WAS upset about was the fact that Vincent had fathered The Son by laying with an empty-headed, lily-white, former Angel. The Son was going to be the highest, most powerful one of their number, second only to Vincent himself. That title should have gone to Raymond, the First Child. But now, it was going to be another, a son whose mother wasn't even fit to lick Placida's sandals.

"Why aren't you smiling?" Vincent asked her now. "This is a celebration."

"You know why," Placida said, tight-lipped. "If you wanted to have The Son to replace Raymond, why didn't you ask me? I would have been very happy to be the mother of such an important child."

Vincent gave her a baleful stare. "I don't have to explain myself to you, or to anyone." He removed his arm from around her and turned to Blaise, kissing Placida's daughter with his tongue.

But Placida was not finished. "All I'm saying is that the Mother should have come from our number. Even if it hadn't been me, I'm sure that Blaise would have been happy to be the vessel."

Blaise rolled her eyes. Easy for her mother to say. Personally, she was glad that Vincent hadn't chosen her. Blaise was young, beautiful, and firm, and she wanted to stay that way. She knew that Vincent preferred her over her mother for that very reason. Let this other girl get fat and ugly. Vincent's hands were under Blaise's top now, and he was fondling her. Blaise's hand went to the zipper of his pants.

"How do you know that your son isn't going to turn out to be stupid, like its mother?" Placida continued spitefully.

Vincent stopped what he was doing and grabbed Blaise's hand, squeezing it painfully. She got the message. He turned towards Placida. "What did you say to me?" he asked her, in a deceptively calm voice.

She recognized the look he was giving her, but Placida couldn't seem to help herself. "How could you betray us like that?" she said angrily. "He will have all that power, yet he will be the son of a stupid, bleached-blonde little Angel bitch."

"He will be MY son," Vincent told her. "The mother is of no importance. As you said, she is only a vessel. A means to an end. I put him in that girl so that they would raise and nurture him. In case you haven't noticed, we're not exactly a child-friendly organization, here. I'm going to get those idiots to do all the work. And then, when the time is right, he will help me to destroy them all. Is that a good enough explanation for you?"

Placida nodded. Her throat had dried up now, so she was unable to speak. She and Vincent had known each other a long time now, and she could tell that he was furious about being questioned.

"Good," Vincent said in a pleasant tone. "And, don't you worry. You will still have a very important role to play in the development of the child. In fact, I believe that role will start right now." He grabbed a steak knife from the place setting on the table and drove it into her throat, slashing across. Then he took his empty glass and held it under her chin, filling it up with her blood. He slammed the full glass down on the table and snapped his fingers, gesturing to Phineas and Barnabas to come to the booth.

"Take her outside, and finish it," Vincent instructed the men. "Collect all the blood, every drop, and bring it to me." He looked at Placida now, who had both hands on her throat, trying to staunch the blood flow. She had a surprised look on her face.

Phineas looked down at Placida. He'd always had a bit of a soft spot for her. She'd told him that he was her favourite, and that Blaise was his daughter. And while Phineas wasn't convinced that either of those claims was true, he had enjoyed the time they had spent together.

But Papa had spoken, and all that Phineas could do for her now would be to make her death a quick and relatively painless one. The men picked her up and carried her outside as quickly as they could, so that not too much of her blood was lost.

Vincent picked up the glass. "Does anybody else want to ask me any questions?" he said loudly. The room had fallen silent. After a moment, he nodded. "That's what I thought."

He handed the glass to Blaise. She looked at him, her dark eyes as wide as saucers.

"Do it, or get the hell out," Vincent said indifferently. "It doesn't matter to me."

Blaise drank.

The four of them had been walking around for about an hour now, looking at all the relics on display from The Titanic. It was amazing how many items there were, and how well-preserved some of them were, considering the punishment they must have undergone. Many of the items were rather mundane, such as luggage, and articles of clothing. It was merely because of where the items had come from that made them objects of wonder.

"Look, there's a bottle of champagne from 1900," Sam pointed out. "I wonder if it's still bubbly."

"I suppose that just goes to show that we should not put off the opportunity to enjoy ourselves, while we can," Cas said softly, and the brothers looked at him, then looked at each other. Their friend was starting to freak them out a bit, now. Cas had had his more relaxed moments from time to time, usually if Dean or Gail or Sam had exhorted him to loosen up and have some fun, but he wasn't generally an "eat, drink, and be merry" type of individual. Jody's diagnosis must have really knocked him sideways.

"There's the grand staircase," Gail remarked. "I'm sure that's just a reproduction, but still, it looks exactly like it did in the movie."

"That must be why the movie cost so much to make," Sam mused. "Look at that detail. Worth every penny, though."

"'Here's to making it count'," Cas quoted, putting his arms around Gail's waist from behind her. "I'm the queen of the world," she responded, stretching her arms out to her sides.

"There's a section of the hull," Dean pointed out, wanting to turn the conversation in a bit more of a manly direction. "Look at the holes. Man, that iceberg really did a number on the thing."

Gail looked upwards, above the grand staircase, where there was a smaller-scale glass domed ceiling. "Ahh, the famous glass ceiling," she quipped. "We women are very familiar with that particular item."

"This has been really cool, but I'm getting hungry," Dean announced. "What do you say we go get that - what is it?"

"Utterance," Cas replied.

"Yeah, that," Dean continued. "Then we can go get Baby and check in, somewhere."

Cas nodded. "That would be fine." He looked at Gail. "Have you decided where you'd like to stay, my love?" His lips twitched. "I presume you meant what you said about the pyramid."

"Let me see that list again?" she said, and he fished it out of his pocket. She looked at it. "The Mirage," she told him.

Cas nodded, replacing the papers in his inside blazer pocket. "We'll go and get the Utterance here, and then we'll head to the Mirage," he confirmed.

"Sounds good. I'm starving," Dean stated.

"So, are you saying that your heart won't go on if you don't get something to eat soon?" Gail quipped, and Sam raised his hand. "Up top," he said, and she made a show of jumping up really high so that she could slap his hand.

Dean muttered something unintelligible, which was probably just as well, and the four of them exited the room.

Benoit's car pulled up in front of the house, and he waited for the chauffeur to come around and open the door for him. When he was making a public appearance, he made a point to exit the car himself, so that everyone would see that he was a politician for the people, not a rich, entitled elitist. And, if there was a woman either getting in or out of the car, Benoit made sure to open the door for her. Such a little gesture could easily sway a voter who was on the fence.

He got out of the car, bringing his briefcase with him. Dr. Roarke had been keeping a file on each of the eight they had brought here from the compound, and Benoit had those files in his briefcase now. A little light reading, during cocktail hour.

Benoit walked up the front steps of the mansion, and his butler opened the door for him. "Good day, Monsieur," the servant said. "May I bring you your usual?"

"Oui," Benoit said. The butler gestured, and Benoit said, "No. I will keep the case with me." As the butler retreated, Benoit went into the den and sat down in a large armchair, opening the briefcase on the table next to him.

He had just started to read the first file when the butler returned with his cocktail. "Your son has been asking to see you," the servant told him, placing the drink next to the briefcase.

Benoit frowned. "It will have to wait. I have some important reading to do, here." He looked up from the file. "I have a staff of twenty-five people. Can't one of you keep him entertained until I'm ready to see him?"

"We tried that last time, don't you remember?" the man replied, looking harried. "It worked for a while, but when Gerard got impatient, three of the chambermaids had to be taken to the hospital."

Benoit sighed, putting the file aside and taking a sip of his drink. Yes, he remembered that all too well. There was a definite double edge to the sword, when it came to Vincent's special children. "All right. You may bring him down here, then," he told the butler.

A minute or two later, a small black boy came racing into the den and onto Benoit's lap. "Papa!" the child exclaimed, putting his arms around the man's neck. "I missed you!"

"And I miss you too, when I'm at work," Benoit told the boy. "But you must not hurt the staff when I'm unable to spend time with you. What I'm doing right now is of utmost importance. I'm campaigning to become President of France, Gerard. We talked about this."

"My name is Jerry," the boy said, pouting.

"I know it is," Benoit said calmly. "Gerard is the French version of Jerry. We will call you Gerard when we are out in public, because the French people will be happy to hear that you have a French name. We are going to give a press conference tomorrow, and announce that I have adopted you for my own. There have been...certain unfounded allegations against me that we must prove are untrue, if I hope to win the election."

"What's a 'allegation'?" Gerard asked him curiously. "Is that like a crocodile?"

Benoit laughed softly. The voters were going to eat this child up with a spoon. "No," he told the boy. "It's basically a lie. It's something that someone says about you without any proof."

"What are they saying about you, Papa?" Gerard inquired, and Benoit was impressed. The boy was precocious and impulsive sometimes, but he was also a quick study. Unlike most of his kind.

"They're alleging that I am a racist, or that I have ties to racist organizations," Benoit replied. He didn't believe in talking down to children, or hiding the truth from them.

"I know what THAT is," Gerard said, frowning. "A racist is a bad person. But you're not a racist, Papa. How could you be? You adopted ME!"

"Exactly," Benoit said, nodding. "Now, I want you to go to your room and play for a while, before dinner. I have some important work to do. But, we'll eat dinner together. All right?"

"OK," the boy said. He gave Benoit a loud, smacking kiss on the man's cheek and then scrambled off of his lap. "I'm glad you're not a racist, Papa."

The child ran out of the room as Benoit smiled. Out of the mouths of babes. And after the press conference tomorrow, his detractors were going to have to shut their fat mouths. The cynical among their number were going to say that Benoit was adopting Gerard simply because he was black, to stem the tide of accusations. But, Benoit would be ready for them. He had a back story all ready to go, proving that his adoption of Gerard had been years in the making, and was motivated by love, not polls. By the end of the day tomorrow, Benoit was going to come out of that press conference looking like a Saint.

He went back to his reading.

"So, what are we looking for, Cas?" Sam asked their friend.

Cas was consulting the pages from the file. "There's a statue of Persephone somewhere on the grounds of the casino. Underneath it will be a pot, where a plant is growing. The Elausinian Mysteries' mythology states that if you fill that vessel with water, take it outdoors, and pray over it, you will be given the answer you seek."

"The WHAT mysteries?" Gail asked her husband, baffled.

"Many, many years ago, in ancient Greece - " Cas began, but Dean interrupted him. "Whoa, Professor. Stop right there. Let's just get this done and save the history lesson for another time, OK? We've still gotta get over to the Mirage and check in, and then there's a prime rib dinner at the restaurant, calling my name."

"All right, Dean," Cas said good-naturedly. "Sam, will you know what we're looking for?"

"I should be able to figure it out, Cas," the younger Winchester said, nodding.

"Good. Then, Gail and I will go this way, and you and Dean can go that way," Cas said, pointing. "Whoever finds the statue will call the other pair, and then the four of us will have to figure out a way to fulfill the requirement without calling undue attention to ourselves."

Right, Dean thought. They were just supposed to dump the stuff that was already in the pot, fill it up with water from somewhere, and lug it outside, then say some kind of prayer over it. But they also weren't supposed to call any attention to themselves. Okie-dokie.

They split up, and Cas took Gail's hand as they walked around the perimeter of the casino. "I'm so happy to be back here with you," Cas said to her. "We've had a lot of romantic times here together."

"That's very true," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "We had our first date here. It doesn't get any more romantic than that."

"I know we've all been very upset about what's happening with Jody, and rightly so," Cas said in a gentle tone. "That is why I thought we could mix business with a little pleasure, on this mission. I never want us to be so caught up in what we are supposed to do that we forget to take time out for each other. That's why I'm very glad the Secret Garden is on the list."

"Why do you think I picked The Mirage to stay at?" Gail said, smiling. "I'm looking forward to going there, sitting in our spot, and getting a bit of quiet time." But then, her smile faded. "I won't lie to you, Cas. This whole thing about Jody has really been bothering me. My heart is breaking for Frank, and the boys. And how about little Angela? If this thing is as aggressive as they were suggesting, Jody could be..." No. She couldn't say it. She couldn't even think it.

Cas stopped walking and turned to face her. "I know," he acknowledged soberly. "That's one reason I didn't object when Dean and Sam wanted to come here with us. I never want to take our human family and friends for granted. For them, life is too short. A blink of an eye. A moment in time. If we are lucky, some of us will be reunited later on. But there are no guarantees. That's why I think we have to 'make it count'."

Gail touched his face. She couldn't have said it better, herself. Cas put his arms around her and was just about to kiss her when his cell phone rang.

"We found it," Dean told him. "We're on the other side of the fountain, around the corner from the lobby."

When Cas and Gail got to where the brothers were standing and Cas had looked at the marble statue to provide visual confirmation that it was the right one, Dean said, "Now what?"

"The pot isn't very big," Sam remarked. "One of us could probably just tip it over, and dump the contents. Then maybe Cas could pop it over to the fountain and fill it up, and then take it outside."

"Sounds like that'll work, but, how are we going to do it?" Gail said uneasily, looking skyward. "I worked at a casino, remember? There are cameras everywhere."

"A distraction," Dean said. "We need to create a distraction that the Eyes in the Sky will watch, so they won't be watching what's going on here."

"Yeah, but what KIND of distraction?" Gail mused.

"It's too bad we need Cas to do the Angel thing; otherwise, the two of you could just stand here and make out," Sam said, grinning.

Gail shook her head. "You're still thinking of the Titanic movie, Sam. Believe me, as much as I'd love to do that, nobody's going to look twice at us. This is Las Vegas. I don't even think they'd look if it was you guys, making out."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, well, despite the long hair, Sammy's not my type. OK; what about an argument, or something?"

"Not compelling enough," Sam stated. "With all the booze they have here, I'm sure there's a ton of those, too. And we don't want to get nabbed by Security, in the process."

"'Nabbed'?" Dean said, mocking his brother. "'Nabbed'? OK...uh..." He elbowed Gail. "Quick, give me the name of a detective from the 1940s."

"Sam Spade is right," Gail said, her lips twitching. "It's going to have to be much more compelling than that, but preferably, something that doesn't directly involve us."

They all thought for another few minutes, and then Cas said, "I have it." He told the others what he had in mind, and Dean frowned. "I don't know, Cas. That sounds pretty dangerous."

"It won't be. Trust me, Dean," Cas said confidently. "I'll be back in a moment." He walked away, vanishing into the crowd.

"It'll be OK, Dean," Gail assured him. "Cas knows what he's doing."

Dean nodded. Yeah, he guessed that Cas did. But that didn't make what his Angel friend was about to do any less crazy, did it?

"Oh my God, I am so wasted," Ivy said to her friends. "Are you guys as wasted as I am?"

"I must be, 'cause I'm seeing things," one of her girlfriends said in a hushed voice.

Their group had been traipsing through the casino lobby at the Luxor, making their way towards the front door, where they were going to get a cab to go out clubbing. But they were stopped in their tracks now.

A huge white tiger was walking toward them, padding along the carpeted floor.

"Oh, shit," Ivy breathed quietly. "What the hell?"

"I'll protect you," one of the guys said, stepping in front of her.

"Oh, sure, Owen," another young man scoffed. "You're scared of our neighbour's German Shepherd."

"What's it doing here?" one of the other girls asked in a trembling voice.

"Must have gotten loose from that zoo they've got at the Mirage," Owen said.

"Zoo?" Ivy asked him.

"Yeah. They've got this place called the Secret Garden, at the Mirage. It's supposed to be pretty cool. I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go there with me tomorrow, just the two of us. I know you like animals," Owen replied.

"Sure. If we don't get eaten right now, it's a date," she said nervously. Owen took her by the hand, and Ivy smiled at him.

Sam grinned. He'd been watching the tiger walk slowly around the perimeter of the casino, towards the lobby. The hope was that the casino's surveillance people would be so concerned about the animal that they wouldn't be watching what Cas was doing.

After taming the tiger and teleporting it to the Luxor from the Secret Garden, Cas had rushed back over to the statue. He and Dean upended the pot, and dumped the plant and the soil out of it, and then Cas lifted it into his arms. "I will fill it with water at the fountain, then take it outside, to the SkyWalk. Meet me out there. The three of you can guard the pot while I take our feline friend back to the Secret Garden. Then I'll come back to where you are, and we'll say the prayer."

He disappeared, and Gail said, "You heard the man. We'd better do it quickly, before Security comes to get the tiger. Come here, Sam, give me your hand."

"She's getting just as bossy as her husband," Dean grumbled good-naturedly. But he took one of Gail's hands and Sam took the other, and she winked them out to the SkyWalk.

Cas appeared a moment later, setting the pot down at their feet. "I have to go and get that tiger, before the security guards panic and shoot it. It's perfectly tame, but they won't know that, of course. I'll be right back." He disappeared again.

"So what's he gonna do, just vanish the tiger right out of the lobby?" Sam said doubtfully. "I thought the idea was not to call any attention to ourselves."

Gail wondered about that, too. But Cas seemed awfully confident about what he was doing, and she trusted him. She looked down at the pot, now filled with water. "I wonder what kind of prayer we're supposed to say," she remarked.

"Don't look at me," Dean shrugged. "I'm the last person you should ask about how to say a prayer."

"What's the difference between praying in church, and praying at the casino?" Sam asked them with a half-smile.

They looked at each other, then looked at him. Gail shrugged. "I don't know, Sam," she said. "What?"

"When people pray in the casino, they really mean it," he deadpanned.

Gail smiled, shaking her head. "That's not bad, actually."

Cas reappeared. "I'm sorry it took me so long. There were a couple of guards there, when I returned. They had their guns drawn. So I modified their memories, and I took the tiger back to the Secret Garden. Then I returned to the lobby, to tell the young people that what they'd seen was a promotion for a new magic act."

The brothers and Gail looked at each other. "That's pretty good, Cas," Sam said, nodding.

"We'd better say the prayer quickly," Cas said, "and then, we'll leave. I don't want anyone becoming suspicious, if they discover that this vessel is missing from underneath the statue."

Dean rolled his eyes. Right. There had just been a wild animal waltzing through the lobby, that dozens of people had seen, and they were gonna worry about a missing plant? "So, what's this prayer?" he asked Cas.

"It's all right, Dean. I've got this," Cas said, holding up a hand. Dean shook his head. Well, duh. Unless Cas thought that "Hail Mary, full of Grace, help me win this stock-car race" was going to be of some assistance in this situation, Dean was out.

Sam was grinning. "He's got this, Dean," he said, and the brothers exchanged amused glances.

Cas lifted his head to the skies and started to speak in ancient Enochian. A few passers-by gave him weird looks, but mostly, the group was ignored.

"Told'ja," Gail said softly to the brothers. "Nobody cares. This is a slow night for Vegas. They probably just think he's making an offering to the gambling gods, or something."

"Then shouldn't we be throwing a couple of poker chips in there?" Dean wisecracked.

Sure enough, right on cue, a man stopped beside the group. "Hey, man, whatever works," he said, digging into his pocket. "I feel ya, brother." He threw a couple of quarters into the pot. They made a tiny splash, then sank to the bottom. "Good luck," the man said to Cas, then kept on walking.

Cas stopped praying, as Gail burst out laughing. "This isn't working," he said, disconsolate. "Maybe I'm saying it wrong."

Gail stepped forward, gesturing to her forehead. "Give me the prayer, Cas. Then, we'll hold hands and say it together. Maybe it just needs a little extra...well, just a little extra."

Cas looked down at her. Then he shrugged. It couldn't hurt. So he placed two fingers on her forehead, giving her the words to the prayer. Once she had them fixed in her mind, she nodded. Then the Angels held hands, and then they recited it together.

There was a moment's silence as Cas gave Gail's hands a gentle squeeze. They had never prayed together in the ancient language before. He felt a surge of love for her now, and the blue glow came out of his hands, enveloping her. Gail smiled, and the golden glow emanated from her and flowed back to him.

"Sammy, look," Dean said, tapping his brother on the arm. He pointed to the large billboard beside the SkyWalk. It had been flashing back and forth from ad to ad, but now, it went dark. Then it became snowy, like a TV station that had lost reception. The noise from the static produced was loud, making the people on the SkyWalk grimace.

A phrase in the ancient language suddenly appeared on the billboard. Sam whipped out his cell phone and took a couple of pictures. Then, for good measure, he typed it into his Notebook application, saved it, and put the phone back in his pocket.

It was a good thing he'd acted so quickly, too, because the wind suddenly picked up, and the rain began to pour. Cas looked up at the sky. Remarkable. It had been overcast when they had first made their way outside, but he had seen no sign that a rainstorm of this magnitude was in the area. Was it a product of the entreaty they had just made to Persephone?

A bolt of lightning came out of the sky and hit the top of the billboard, and it went dark again. Cas smiled grimly. "You're too late," he said quietly, and Gail looked at him with a puzzled expression. Why did she always get the feeling that he knew more than any of them did, all the time?

Probably because he DID, she thought. But before Gail had the chance to ask him about it, Cas had enveloped them in a group hug, and winked them back inside. No one noticed.

2 - THE SECRET GARDEN - WHAT HAPPENS TOMORROW

Dean had gotten his prime rib dinner, and he had eaten heartily. Sam had gone up to the buffet and come back with some soup, and some bread and butter. He'd eaten that, then announced he didn't want anything more to eat. But he'd ordered a whiskey, then another. The others were looking at him strangely, but Sam didn't care. They'd been kind of busy up until now, but now that they had a bit of a breather, his conscience was starting to talk to him.

They left the restaurant, and this time, it was Sam who suggested they all go to the bar for more drinks.

"You guys can do what you like, but I think we'll pass," Gail said, looking at Cas for confirmation.

"Come on, just have one nightcap," Sam urged the Angels. He was trying to decide whether he wanted to unburden himself to all of them, but he hadn't gotten up the courage yet. Cas would look at him with disappointment on his face, and Gail would look puzzled, and call him stupid. Well, OK, maybe she wouldn't say so out loud, but she would be thinking it. And she would be absolutely right. But it was going to be hard for Sam to confess his transgression to any of them, because it was so out of character for him. How could he explain it to them, when he didn't understand it himself?

"Okay, Sam, we'll come for one drink," Gail relented. She and Cas communicated non-verbally. The two of them hadn't had anything planned for tonight, but they usually liked to take a nighttime walk down the Strip together. However, it seemed as if Sam wanted to talk about something, so the couple decided they would accompany the brothers for a while, to see if that was the case.

They sat in a cozy corner booth, and Gail grabbed the drinks menu to read. Even if she wasn't going to have a drink, she always liked to look. She began to scan the menu, and she laughed suddenly. "Look at this," she said, showing it to Cas.

"That's an odd name for a drink," he remarked, and Gail looked at the brothers, smirking. "Check it out," she said. "Third one down."

Dean was smirking now, too. "I dare you to order that," he said to her.

"Challenge accepted," Gail responded, still smiling. When the server came back to take their drink orders, Gail said, "I'd like one of these, please." She pointed to the spot on the menu, glancing at Dean.

He sat back, forming his hands into the shape of a T. "No, no, no, no. Time out. Nuh-uh. You have to order it by name."

"You never said that," she said pertly. "You only dared me to order it."

"I think you're afraid to say it," Dean accused Gail, and she said, "Oh, yeah? Well then, you would be wrong." She looked up at the server. "I'll have an Irishman's Ass, please."

"Wow, Gail. In front of your husband?" Dean razzed her, and Sam grinned at Cas. "Maybe you should work out a little more," he teased their Angel friend.

"Now I dare you to ask what's in it," Dean said, laughing.

Gail rolled her eyes, looking at the server. "I apologize for these guys," she told the young man. "They think they're pretty funny."

"That's OK," the server said. "With a name like that, we get that a lot." He smiled. "It could be worse. You could have asked me for Number Twelve."

Gail looked at the menu again. Her eyes widened. Yikes. "I think my husband might divorce me if I said that to another man," she half-joked.

The server shrugged. "Hey, what happens in Vegas," he said, winking. Then he walked away to fill their drink order.

Cas looked at the menu, then at the retreating back of the server. "Should I punch him, when he returns?" he asked.

Dean said, "Depends. What's Number Twelve?" He consulted his menu, then nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

As if sensing the conversation that had taken place in his absence, the young server brought their drinks back to the table, then quickly left again, with no further comment.

"Cheers," Sam said, lifting his drink in a toast.

Cas hadn't ordered a drink, but Gail lifted her glass and clinked with the brothers. She took a sip, and immediately scrunched up her face.

"Is it not good?" Cas asked her curiously, and she shook her head. "No. No, it's not," Gail told her husband. "Yuk." She made another face, then put the glass down on the table.

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," Dean said, grabbing the glass. He took a swig, then made a face that was so exaggeratedly disgusted that Gail burst out laughing. He slammed the glass down on the table. "That...that tastes like actual ass!" Dean exclaimed, as Gail laughed harder.

"Hey, Cas, maybe they should call it the 'ass-butt' drink, in your honour," Sam wisecracked.

Cas smiled gently. "I suppose I'll never live that down, will I?"

"I think it's adorable," Gail said, kissing him on the cheek. She nuzzled his cheek for a moment, and Dean said, "Awww, geez. Here we go."

Gail shrugged. "Hey, what can I say? I never win at gambling any more, I don't eat, and after that abomination - " she pointed to the drink on the table " - I may have to give up drinking, too. That doesn't leave us with many more activities."

Cas was smiling, but he was looking at Sam now. "Did you have something you wanted to talk to us about, Sam?"

The younger Winchester was still debating with himself. But he looked at Gail now, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Look at how she and Cas were with each other. There was no way he could tell them that he had jumped into bed with Becky the same night Quinn had boarded a train to leave town. No way. So he said, "Nope. Nothing at all. Why don't you guys get going? We'll call you in the morning."

"OK, Sam, if you're sure," Cas said a little uncertainly. But Sam assured him it was fine, and Gail's hand was on Cas's thigh, under the table. So the Angels excused themselves, saying goodnight.

Dean slid out of the booth and moved across from his brother to take the spot they had just vacated. He grabbed the drinks menu again, grinning at Sam. "You wanna ask a female server if we can have a Number Eight?" he quipped.

Sam looked at his own copy of the menu, and he grinned back. "Sure, if I want to get slapped across the face."

Dean lifted his glass. "Well, to quote our server: 'Hey, what happens in Vegas.'" He and Sam toasted.

Gail came out of the washroom, wearing her nightshirt. She had wanted to have a shower as soon as they'd gotten back from their walk. After the brief storm earlier, the weather had turned muggy, and the humidity lingered even after the sun had gone down. It was autumn now, so hopefully the temperatures would be cooling soon, Gail thought. Between the Caribbean islands and ancient Egypt, she'd had her fill of hot weather lately.

Cas was sitting up on the bed leaning back against the pillows, and he had a thoughtful expression on his face. "What are you thinking about, sweetie?" she asked him, climbing onto the bed.

"I've been wondering what Vincent is doing," he told her. "Leah said that he will be seeking revenge. What is he planning? I wish there was a way we could find out." He slipped his arm around her waist and cuddled her to him. "But, for the first time in a long time, I feel that we are making some real progress. Once we have these seven Utterances and solve the anagram, we will have the location of the Book of the Dead."

Gail nodded. Cas was right, but Gail had also been wondering what Vincent was up to. Who the hell knew? A guy that crazy was liable to do anything. And what about Raguel? What was HE up to? It was a good thing that he was laying low, because now that they'd lost the jawbone, they had no way to kill him, either.

"I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that we are the ones who locate those Books," Cas vowed. "They would be very powerful weapons in the wrong hands. Game-changers, as the expression goes. None of our lives would ever be the same."

Gail lifted her head to look at her husband's face. "Do you know something the rest of us don't, Cas?"

"I know a thing or two, yes," he said evasively, but Gail frowned. "After all this time, I can't believe you would try that on me," she chided him, and he shook his head. "No, my love. I don't know anything about the Books that I'm not sharing with you. I promise. It's not what I know; it's how I feel. I feel a sense of foreboding. Like there's something going on behind our backs. Something evil. I can't really explain it any further than that."

Gail continued to study his face. Of course there was. There was always something evil going on behind their backs. Always. She sighed. "Well, on the bright side, at least we get to go to the Secret Garden tomorrow," she said, kissing him on the lips.

Cas smiled. His wonderful, sweet wife. Any time he was feeling down, or inadequate, she would always say something to cheer him, without once belittling or marginalizing his feelings. She had no idea how much that meant to him. For centuries, Angels had been discouraged from having any sort of emotions at all. A year or so ago, Gail had told him about a movie called Pleasantville. They had watched it together at their house on Earth, and he had been puzzled by it, at first. But then, as he had continued to watch, Cas had begun to be astonished. Gail was showing Cas his entire experience in Heaven. The tears had started to stream down his face as he watched the characters' discovery of colour in a black-and-white world, and the townspeople's condemnation of the phenomenon. Gail had tenderly placed a wad of tissues in Cas's hand, speaking soothingly to him. And then, when the movie was over, Cas had wiped his eyes and looked at his wife, open-mouthed. "That's exactly how it was," he'd told her. "That's exactly how I felt. Everywhere I went, I could see bright colours, in my mind's eye. Beautiful, vibrant colours. But, I was the only one. I would listen to music and see the notes in my head, and it would produce such a feeling...Thousands of years later, I would come to recognize that feeling." Cas had taken her hand, then. "It was the feeling of being in love."

Then Gail had started to sniffle, and the tissues had come out again.

"Thank you, my darling," he said to her now, and before Gail had the chance to ask him whatever for, he was kissing her.

Sam and Dean had begun to pound the drinks back, and finally, Sam felt like he had the courage to tell his brother about what had happened. His conscience was going to eat him alive until he did.

"Uhhh...Dean," Sam began tentatively. "I need to tell you something."

"That's not your real hair? I knew it," Dean quipped. "They're doing amazing things with wigs, these days."

"Come on, Dean, this is serious," Sam said earnestly.

"Oh, it's serious," Dean said, lifting his glass. "How many more of these are we gonna need, then?"

"Probably a lot more," Sam replied. "But if I don't tell you now, I'll lose my nerve." As Dean fell silent, waiting expectantly, Sam continued, "I wasn't at Quinn's."

"Huh?"

"The night that Jody told us about her diagnosis, and you were at Nicole's, I wasn't at Quinn's," Sam said in a rush. "I called her, but she was heading out of town, and I was drunk, and so damn depressed, and then Becky called me from some hotel the modelling company was putting her up at and invited me over for a drink, and to talk, and...I went."

"OK," Dean said, trying to follow the world's longest sentence. "So..." The light dawned. When he had called his brother the next morning, Sam had been cabbing it home. The next morning. "Awww, Sammy. You didn't."

"Apparently, I did," Sam said, grimacing.

"Apparently?" Dean echoed.

"I had a lot to drink," Sam said sheepishly. "I kind of blacked out."

"Well, then, maybe you didn't," Dean pointed out.

"When I woke up in her bed, she was sleeping next to me, and she was naked," Sam said miserably. "You do the math. I thought she was Quinn, but then my cell phone rang, and THAT was Quinn, calling from Michigan, to see how I was doing."

Dean smirked. "You were doing pretty good, it sounds like."

"No, Dean, I wasn't," Sam insisted. "I know you and I both had our share of one-night stands when we were younger, but this is different. I don't just use women like that. I'm not that kind of guy."

"OK, Sammy. Okay. I know you're not," Dean assured him. "But, you obviously weren't yourself. You were drunk, and you were looking for comfort. End of story."

Sam scrutinized his brother's face. "That's it? 'End of story'? You're not gonna rag me about it?"

Dean took a drink. "Have we met? Of course I am. But I just wanted to be a human being about it, first. We've all been there, Sam. It would probably take more than the two hands I've got for me to count all the times I've woken up next to some woman I don't even know, with the taste of last night's tequila coming up my throat and a pounding headache. Believe me, I understand."

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said quietly. "That means a lot to me." He sighed. "I really blew it, though. Quinn dumped me, again. And now, I'm worried about Becky. She's probably out shopping somewhere, picking out matching rings, or something."

Dean smirked again. Yeah, she probably was. "Word to the wise, Sammy: Never go to bed with your stalker. Better call up your FBI guy and get him started on the restraining order."

Sam said nothing. He'd expected to take a fair amount of razzing from Dean on the subject, and this was pretty mild, compared to what he'd been expecting. "When we get back, I'm going to have to talk to her," he told his brother. "All jokes aside, I don't want her thinking that she and I have a future."

"And when she doesn't hear a word you say, make sure you name one of your 2.4 kids after me," Dean joked. "Cas'll probably babysit for free."

Sam rolled his eyes. OK, this was more like Dean. But he was still glad he'd unburdened himself. When they got back from Vegas, he was going to call Becky up and face her, like a man. And he wasn't going to leave until he was satisfied that she realized they weren't going to have a relationship, of any kind.

"Ready for another one?" Dean asked his brother, and Sam nodded.

The next morning, the brothers were both sitting at breakfast with big heads and queasy stomachs, but to them, it had been worth the discomfort. After Sam's confession last night, the brothers had hoisted a few more at the bar with the questionable drink names. Dean had ended up ordering one of them from a female server. Or at least, he had tried to. He and Sam had both had quite a few by that time, and they had ended up laughing so hard at the naughty name, like the adolescent boys they had once been, that the server had merely rolled her eyes and walked away. Shortly thereafter, the siblings had headed up to their room, arms slung companionably around each other's shoulders. It was remarkable, really. After all the years they had been hanging out together, they still liked each other enough that they chose to share a room, when they could each easily afford their own.

"What does the Secret Garden have to do with the original Seven Wonders of the World?" Sam asked Cas curiously. "I mean, I get the Luxor representing the Pyramid at Giza, but..."

"The Secret Garden is the modern equivalent of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon," Cas responded. "Historical records state that there is no actual proof that the original Hanging Gardens ever existed, but I know that they did. I saw them, with my own eyes. They were beautiful."

"But...if they were in Babylon, why wouldn't the historical records just reflect that?" Gail asked her husband.

"That's a good question, my love," Cas said, kissing her lightly on the nose. That made Gail smile, but Dean rolled his eyes. Those two and their "romantic" nights. If she'd asked if the sun was shining today, Cas would be falling all over himself to tell her that that was the best question he had ever heard.

"There were several cities called 'Babylon' back in those days, in the ancient Mesopotamian region. 'Babylon' means 'Gate of the Gods'. That is why, according to the information I have here, the second Utterance is carved into the stone archway at the front gate of the Secret Garden. Once you two are finished your breakfast, we will head down there and record the verse, before the crowds come." Cas looked at Gail. "And we can spend a bit of time there afterwards, when it's still quiet, and before the day gets very hot." She smiled at him gratefully.

"No offense, but do you guys even need us to go with you?" Dean asked the Angels. "I mean, it's a nice place, and the big cats are cool, but..."

"I think Dean is not-so-subtly hinting that he doesn't want to go outside in the bright light and watch us canoodle, when he could stay here in a dark casino, have some hair of the dog, and play some cards," Gail told Cas, kissing him on the cheek.

"My ex-wife speaks the truth," Dean wisecracked.

"All right, then," Cas said agreeably. He took Gail's hand, and they both stood. "We'll give you a call in a couple of hours, and arrange to meet somewhere."

"Sure, Cas. Sounds good," Sam said affably. "Make sure you write it down in the Notebook feature on your phone, and take a couple of pictures too, just to be on the safe side. Then you can e-mail it to me, and once we have all seven, we can put them together and send them to Kevin."

Cas nodded. Made sense to him. He and Gail left the restaurant and walked to the Secret Garden. They were the first ones there. They waited ten minutes for the ticket booth to open up, and then Cas bought their tickets. They hurried to the stone archway. And it was just that easy. Their strategy had been a good one. Since there was nobody else there that early in the day, they didn't have to explain why they were standing under the archway looking up so intently, recording what was written there. Then Cas took a couple of photos, and that was that.

They continued on into the area where the big cats were, and there, they were met with a surprise. Hermann was already there, sitting quietly on the bench they had always called theirs. They approached him, and they could see that his cheeks were wet with tears.

But as soon as he noticed who they were, Hermann wiped his eyes and gave them a welcoming smile. "It is so good to see the two of you again," he said, standing from the bench. "It has been much too long."

"What's the matter, Hermann?" Gail asked him.

"My Burt passed away a couple of weeks ago," Hermann said sadly.

"We're very sorry to hear that," Cas said softly, and Gail put her hand on Hermann's arm. He patted her hand.

"But at least, we were able to be married, first. After you brought your Canadian friends here, Burt and I got to talking. We had actually discovered that we were able to be legally married here in Las Vegas a few years prior to that, but since we were public figures, we were always reticent. We come from a different generation, one that was not very tolerant of us and the way we chose to live our lives. But then, after I saw your friends here, so happy, and so in love, I realized that it's a new era, now. In many ways, alternate lifestyles are more accepted in today's society. So I told Burt that I was done worrying about what others thought of us. I loved him. I had loved him for all those years, when people mocked us, and told snide jokes about us. When we had to hide who we were so that we could take care of the animals we loved. So I finally persuaded Burt to say yes, and we were married a year and a half ago. It was the happiest year we ever had." Tears started to roll down his cheeks again. "Then Burt had another stroke, and that one, he was unable to recover from." He looked around at the big cats, lounging in their cages. "Our darlings are in mourning for Burt, as I am. I come here first thing in the morning and sit with them, talking about Burt. Many people would laugh, but I believe they understand every word I say. And sometimes they answer back, in their fashion."

"I believe that, with all my heart," Cas said fervently. "God's creatures are very intuitive, and much smarter than many of your fellow humans believe."

Gail looked at Cas sharply, and he realized his slip of the tongue. Hermann looked at the both of them without saying anything for a moment, and then he said quietly, "Is my Burt at peace?"

"Yes, he is," Cas assured the man. He had no personal knowledge one way or the other, but Cas didn't feel badly about telling Hermann this whitest of lies. As soon as he'd said that, Hermann's face had relaxed visibly, and he gave the Angel couple a faint smile.

"I knew that you would understand," the man said. He looked at Cas. "Do you think that you might do me a favour, if you have a moment? Do you think that you could have a bit of a visit with our white tigers? They have barely eaten since Burt's passing. Perhaps you can convince them that he would not want them to pine away like that."

"If you think it would help, I would be glad to do that," Cas agreed.

Hermann called over to the ticket booth and asked the staff there not to let any members of the public in, until he gave them the go-ahead. Then he and Cas walked over to the enclosure. Gail trailed behind.

"Do you think I could come in for just a moment and pet them?" she asked Hermann shyly. "They're so beautiful." She had always been too afraid before, but now, Gail was thinking that she would like to have that experience.

"I don't see why not," Hermann replied. Cas took Gail by the hand and as all three tigers that were in the cage saw them enter, the big cats approached. Gail was nervous, but the animals appeared very docile. They nuzzled Hermann's hand as he pet them, and they rubbed against Cas's leg, making that deep, rumbling sound that Gail took to be purring.

"This is my wife, Gail," Cas told the cats softly. She put out her hand slowly and one of the tigers sniffed at it, then rubbed its head on her hand. Gail smiled.

The three of them spent a few minutes in the cage with the tigers, and Gail was awestruck. They were such beautiful creatures, and their fur was surprisingly soft and fluffy. One of the tigers rubbed against her side, just being affectionate, and Gail was nearly knocked to the ground.

"Oops," she said, smiling. Cas reached out to steady her, asking if she was OK. Gail assured him she was fine, but then she added, "I think I'm going to go sit on our bench for a bit. Spend a little time with your girlfriends here, and tell them to please start eating again. Tell them Burt would want them to."

As Gail turned to exit the cage, Hermann's cell phone rang. "Please excuse me," he said, and he exited the cage as well, walking away from the enclosure to answer it.

"Let me talk to you for a minute," Cas said to the tigers. "Come. Sit with me." To Gail's amusement, he sat down on the floor of the cage, and the tigers all grouped around him and sprawled next to him on the floor, like children waiting for a story.

"I know that you've all been very sad that Burt is no longer here on Earth," Cas said to the animals. "But, I can assure you that he is not gone. He is still here, in the form of Hermann, and all of the people who come in here every day to look at you, and marvel at what wondrous creatures you are. He is here with you, loving you and taking care of you." He scratched the heads of each cat in turn, and they rumbled contentedly. "You know, we have a human friend who may not have much longer to live, and she will leave behind many loved ones," Cas said unexpectedly, making tears spring to Gail's eyes. "And she will be dearly missed, I can assure you. But she would not want any of us to stop living, simply because she did. She would want us to go on to lead the best lives we possibly could, for her sake, and in her memory. And even though it will break our hearts to have to say goodbye to her, we will do that, for her. Please promise me that you will go on to live long and healthy lives, to honour Burt's legacy."

Cas got up from the floor of the cage and the tigers did too, rubbing up against him and making low sounds, as if acknowledging what he'd said. Hermann returned as Cas exited the cage. "They will eat, now," he told the man.

Gail's eyes were blurred with tears as Cas came over to the bench and took her hand. "Let's go, my love," he said to her. "We've already delayed the Garden's opening, this morning." He looked at Hermann. "We will be going now, but we will try to return soon."

"Thank you," Hermann said, and Gail hugged him impulsively. Then Cas did, too, and then they walked out of the Secret Garden, hand in hand.

Benoit had been holding his press conference for about ten minutes now, fielding mainly softball questions. What was he going to do about crime and terrorist threats, if elected? What about France's economy, and position on the world stage? Benoit had had ready answers for those questions, because he was asked the same ones everywhere he went.

"I know that mine is not the most popular stance in these politically correct times, but I believe we must be much tougher on immigration to our country," Benoit said smoothly. "Statistics show overwhelmingly that the vast majority of violent crimes in France are committed by people who are not from France. And as for terrorism, well, need I say more?"

Yes, you need to say more, Andre thought. You didn't say anything in the first place. "What ARE the statistics?" he called out. "Can you produce them?"

Benoit smiled indulgently. "The last time I looked, we were gentlemen, here. However, since Monsieur Gosselin seems to be late for his deadline, I'll address his interruption - I mean, question."

Most of the reporters laughed, and Benoit looked at an annoyed Andre. "I've seen you at these news conferences before. I applaud your civic responsibility, and your interest in the truth. So, I'll tell you some truths: I am sick and tired of turning on the news, and seeing innocent women and children being taken to the hospital, or worse, to the morgue, as a result of the latest terrorist bombing. And I'm fed up with those people who are coming into France illegally, thinking that we will welcome them with open arms while they steal, and rape, and murder our citizens, all on the government dime!"

Most of the assembled reporters and observers clapped, and a few of them also cheered. They were supposed to be impartial, but to many members of the press, Benoit was like a breath of fresh air. He said what they were all thinking, but weren't supposed to say. And he was absolutely right: every day, it seemed, they were reporting another heartbreaking story of senseless violence. There would be blood, and carnage, and horror. The families would then go on TV, saying how it had to end. The Eiffel Tower would darken in honour of the victims, and the rest of the world would send their thoughts and prayers via social media, often in very fractured French. But their hearts were in the right place. And, bless those people, but thoughts and prayers didn't stop bombs from exploding, nor did the tearful pleas of the ones left behind soften the hearts of the terrorists. There had been a change coming for quite a while now, and it seemed as though the people of France might be ready to elect a leader who spoke like Benoit did. Other countries already had.

But Benoit spoke in rhetoric and slogans, without any actual facts to back up what he was saying. Nevertheless, he was very popular, and that scared Andre. It scared him a lot. So much so that he blurted out, "I wasn't looking for a speech, Monsieur Levesque. I was looking for those statistics you mentioned. And if you don't have those handy, I'll take another number from you: how many members of Les Rebelles Blancs were there, in its heyday?"

Benoit's eyes narrowed. "Now, why on earth would you be asking ME that question, Andre?"

"You were their leader, weren't you?" Andre pressed on, and the assembled people gasped. They all knew about the notorious white supremacist group.

Benoit started to shake. "How dare you? How DARE you say that to me? How can you stand up here in front of all these people and accuse me of being a racist? Where's your proof? Produce it, now!"

Right on cue, Benoit's campaign manager whispered something in Gerard's ear, and then he released the boy. He ran over to Benoit at the podium, shouting, "Papa! Papa!"

Benoit looked down at his adopted son, smiling. "I'm kind of busy right now, Gerard." He bent down and lifted the boy into his arms, bouncing him up and down. "My apologies, everyone. Gerard is just a little excited. After going through several years' worth of red tape, we have officially become father and son today."

The assembled spectators applauded, but Andre rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on!" he exclaimed. "Isn't this all a little too convenient?"

"Why is that man angry, Papa?" Gerard asked loudly. He had been coached very well.

"Never mind, Gerard," Benoit said, emphasizing the French pronunciation of the child's name. "He's been making some false allegations against me, that's all."

"Allegations?" Gerard repeated. "Are those like crocodiles?"

The spectators roared with laughter, and Benoit grinned. That line had been too damn cute not to use. Once the laughter died down, Benoit patiently explained to his son what "allegations" were, and that Monsieur Gosselin was trying to say that his father was a racist.

"But you can't be a racist, Papa! You adopted ME!" Gerard said, and everyone laughed again. Gerard was going to win the election for his pere single-handedly, if he kept this up.

"That's all right, Gerard," Benoit said once the fresh bout of laughter died down. "When you get a little older, you will begin to understand that there are all kinds of different people in the world. There are many, many good people, who love each other like we do, and who want to make the world a better place." He gave the boy a gentle kiss on the cheek. Then he looked at Andre. "And then, there are those types of people who are unhappy with themselves and their lives, and because they are, they look to hurt others, and tear them down. Those people are to be pitied."

There was a moment's silence, and then Benoit said, "I thank everyone for coming out today. Merci beaucoups. And now, I believe I will take my son out for cake and ice cream, to celebrate the finalization of the adoption. And for those of you who might have any questions about that, you will see in the information packet you were given today that Gerard's entire family was killed in a terrorist bombing; just the sort of attack that we have been talking about. My heart went out to him, but then I thought to myself: surely, I can do more. I have a big house, and plenty of money, thanks to the Levesque family interests. I also have a lot of love to give. I have never been fortunate enough to meet a woman who is willing to make a commitment to a workaholic like me, although those of you from the tabloids know that I have tried, and tried." There was more laughter from the press corps. Benoit looked at Gerard. "But, I can love a child. I realize that my action is just a drop in the proverbial bucket, but if we were all to perform one such act, pretty soon, the bucket would be full. That's what my administration will be all about. Au revoir, for now."

Then Benoit walked away from the podium and out of the room, still holding Gerard. The reporters began to disperse as Andre just stood there, astonished. What had just happened here? Merde, that guy was good. He felt like he'd just been at a revival meeting for a holy man, instead of a press conference where a racist bastard was asking to be elected President.

The problem was, Levesque had been quite right: Andre had not one stick of proof that Benoit had been the head of the most vile, virulent white supremacist group France had ever seen. But nonetheless, he knew it to be true. His own cousin had belonged to Les Rebelles Blancs, much to the family's shame. But everyone who had been a member of that organization had died in the explosion of their headquarters, including Andre's cousin. All, save for one: their leader. Or so everyone believed, anyway. The explosion had been so powerful that there had not been enough of any particular body part left for identification.

And except in a few rare cases, that was usually the way. The bosses of those kinds of groups usually exhorted its members to take all the risks, and then wriggled out of the net. Sometimes, they wriggled away to obscurity. But many times they resurfaced, reborn and rebranded, just like Benoit Levesque had.

But the man was careful, and extremely clever. Andre knew you couldn't just run around making wild accusations against someone like Benoit, not without proof. Still, something had to be done about him, before the people elected him to the highest office in the land.

As Monsieur Gosselin left the press room, still mulling that over, Michelle Delacroix stood there, also lost in thought, finishing her glass of wine. So far, her excursion was going splendidly. One contact had led to another, and then to another, and before she knew it, she'd been able to expand her fundraising idea to a dinner and dance to benefit her Rape Crisis Centre back home, and Benoit Levesque was one of the very high-profile people whose office had RSVP'ed that he would be there. A reporter friend of Michelle's had tipped her off that he would be here today, and she'd been anxious to meet him. Well, it looked like she wasn't going to get that chance today, but at least she'd been able to see him, and that cute little son of his. And, never one to let an opportunity go to waste, Michelle had distributed flyers amongst the press corps, telling them it would be appreciated if her cause could receive a mention in their various publications.

Michelle had been very impressed with Benoit. He was a good-looking man; tall, well-dressed, and urbane. But, more than that, he seemed like a man who really cared about people. When he'd talked about seeing poor little Gerard without a family and then wanting to do something meaningful about it, that had really spoken to Michelle. That was the exact reason she had opened up her centre. She totally agreed with the sentiment that Benoit had expressed: it may just be a drop in the bucket, but at least, it was something.

She drained her wineglass. Oh, well. She'd be meeting Monsieur Levesque at the fundraiser. She was looking forward to getting to know him better.

Meanwhile, Andre had walked to the closest bar in the neighbourhood, and ordered a double. He looked up at the TV and, sure enough, there were already snippets from the press conference he had just attended, on the news. It was all just sound bites of Levesque holding a little black child in his arms, talking about wanting to make the world a better place. Made Andre want to vomit. He finished his drink, then ordered another.

Once he'd finished that too, he ordered a third. When the bartender bought it over, he asked Andre, "Are you sure you want this? You don't look very well."

Andre tapped his finger on the bar, and the bartender set the drink down. He'd made his token protest.

Andre picked up the glass and used it to gesture at the TV. "Sorry, but Herr Levesque there is just getting on my nerves."

"What are you talking about?" the bartender inquired.

Andre took a long drink, then banged the glass down on the bar. "Am I the only one who's worried about this guy? He's just way too slick. I mean, think about it: some guy we've never seen or heard of before just suddenly emerges out of nowhere to win a nomination for the Presidency. He says his family name is Levesque, and that they're a very wealthy, old-school family. But no one knows where all that money is supposed to have come from, and when he's asked to produce financial statements, he refuses, citing campaign confidentiality. Then, he's accused of having ties to Les Rebelles Blancs, so he shows up at a press conference with a black kid! I mean, come on! Am I the only one who sees through this little charade of his?"

"Well, I like what he stands for," the bartender said firmly. "And as far as I can tell, the only one accusing him of racism is you."

Andre pressed his lips together in frustration. Yeah, he was the only one. The only LIVE one. There had been another man who had published some very popular blogs when Benoit had first announced his candidacy, and that blogger had been making the same kinds of allegations as Andre was making now. But one day, the blogger had up and disappeared, and a few days later, his body had been found face-down in the Seine.

"Have you got any proof he used to be associated with Les Rebelles Blancs?" a man sitting further down the bar wanted to know. "Or, was it like he said? You just want to tear him down?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Andre responded, mystified. "If I thought for one minute that Levesque was sincere about even half the things he says, why wouldn't I support him? But he's lying to us all. He's a racist bastard, a piece of merde. If he's elected, we'll all live to regret it, just the same as when the German people allowed Hitler to take power."

"All right, that's enough," the bartender said angrily. "Until you can provide us with some proof of what you're saying, you can keep your mouth shut, or go to another bar."

"That's right," the other man chipped in. "DO you have any proof?"

"No," Andre admitted reluctantly, "but, I will. I'm working very hard on getting it, and I'll never give up on finding it. This is much too important, to us all." He finished his drink. "But, you're right. As a newsman, I have to deal in facts, not wild allegations."

The bartender's face relaxed. "Those are like crocodiles, right, Andre?" Everyone who was sitting at the bar laughed. "Man, that kid was cute. Relax, Andre. No member of Les Rebelles Blancs would have stood there on TV and kissed a black kid. They would have chopped their lips off, first. You should know that better than anyone."

Andre looked at him sharply. Had that been a veiled reference to his cousin? But, he let it go. It was obvious he wasn't winning any friends here by stating his honest opinion. And he hated like hell to admit it, but they were right, at least as far as the lack of proof went. Were they supposed to just take his word for it? Andre wouldn't, if the shoe was on the other foot. Hopefully, some of the contacts he had reached out to would be able to come up with something. No one whose loved ones had died in the explosion would talk to Andre, so that seemed to be a dead end. No pun intended. Les Rebelles Blancs had appeared to have attracted mainly angry loners, for the most part, a fact that surprised exactly no one. But a few of them had been mourned by a few family members, people who preferred to remember back when their loved one hadn't been a ranting, raving, card-carrying, piece of shit racist. Andre hoped that one of his reporter friends could get one of those family members to return their calls. But as of now, the silence had been deafening. Nobody wanted to come forward and tell that story. It was like admitting that little Jimmy was a foaming-at-the-mouth, crazed serial killer. People would point their fingers at little Jimmy's family, saying that the way he had turned out was their fault. They should have shown him more love, or fed him less sugar, or something. Of course no one wanted to go on record and talk about their loved one being a member of a white supremacist group. What would be in it for them? It was quite the Catch-22, Andre thought bitterly. He couldn't keep accusing Benoit without any proof to back up his allegations, but he couldn't get the proof, because no one was willing to step out of the shadows and talk about their family's shame. Andre, included.

"No hard feelings, eh? This one's on the house," the bartender said to him now, placing another drink on the bar.

"Merci, Mathieu," Andre said, toasting the man with the fresh drink. He sat there brooding for a few more minutes, then finished his drink and left quietly.

He'd gotten about halfway home when all of a sudden, Andre felt his throat close up. His hands flew to his neck and he struggled for air, but he was unable to breathe. It was as if invisible hands were wrapped around his throat, squeezing with all their might. He fell to the sidewalk, still struggling. But a moment later, it was all over.

A man stepped out of the alleyway, calmly observing the reporter. Then, satisfied that Andre was dead, he pulled out a cell phone.

"It is done," Dr. Roarke told Benoit, smiling faintly.

3 - NEW YORK, NEW YORK - FEAST OF FOOLS

Cas and Gail met the Winchesters at lunch, and told them the sad story about Hermann and Burt.

"I don't really feel like staying here anymore," Gail told Cas in a subdued tone. "Let's go do the next Utterance."

Cas nodded, producing the list. "There's one at New York, New York that looks very simple," he remarked.

"New York, New York," Dean said, finishing his burger. "So nice, they named it twice."

"Sure; let's go," Sam enthused. His stomach was feeling a little better now that he'd had something to eat, and so was his head. "We could use a walk."

"How far is it?" Dean said skeptically.

"Not far," Sam said, consulting the map he had downloaded onto his phone. "Just down the Strip, at the Four Corners. The Statue of Liberty's near the SkyWalk there."

"That's exactly where we want to go," Cas said. "The Statue of Liberty is meant to represent the ancient statue of Zeus, which was another of the original Wonders. Zeus was holding a giant scepter in his left hand; Lady Liberty a torch, in her right."

"Give us your tired, your poor, your hung over..." Gail quipped, and Dean glared at her balefully. He hadn't rebounded quite as well as it appeared that his younger brother had.

But Sam's brow was furrowing now. "So, what does that mean? Are you gonna have to pop up to the torch part of the statue?" he asked Cas.

"No, Sam. I was merely pointing out the correlations between the two statues," Cas told him. "The Utterance is on the statue's pedestal."

Oh. Right, then. Dean rolled his eyes as the quartet rose from their seats. "Geez, Cas. If somebody asked you for the time, you would tell them how to build a watch," he groused.

"I don't know how to build a watch, Dean," Cas said mildly, "although I think it would be very exciting to learn."

"If that's your definition of exciting, Vegas is completely wasted on you," Dean pointed out.

Gail took Cas's hand, and Cas smiled. That may be Dean's opinion, but Cas did not agree. Although hearing of Burt's passing had made both of the Angels very sad, generally speaking, Cas had been having another wonderful time here. It was and would always be incongruous, really; two Angels, having fun in Sin City. But Cas and Gail had a very rich history of romance here, going back to their first official date, and the first time they had ever made love. Las Vegas would always be a special place for them, due to those factors alone.

"I'll tell you what," Cas said suddenly. He took the piece of paper out of his pocket, the one that advised the locations of the Utterances, pressing it into Gail's hand. "If you and Sam would like to go ahead, Dean and I will meet you there, in a little while."

Dean did a double-take. "We will?"

Cas nodded. "Yes, Dean. You heard Gail; she doesn't wish to stay here anymore. Therefore, Dean and I will pack up all of our things, check out, and drive down to that end of the Strip. Where would you like to stay, my darling?"

Gail was at a loss for words at the moment. When she'd said she didn't want to stay here any longer, her comment had been more or less due to the sadness she'd felt about Burt's death than anything else. She hadn't expected Cas to take her so literally. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and then said, "Surprise me."

Sam and Dean exchanged glances. It was a good thing Cas had pretty much assimilated by now, or else telling him to surprise her might have been a far more dicey proposition. But this new, laissez-faire Cas was putting them a little off balance. They were still getting the job done, but it seemed like their Angel friend was also making some effort to ensure that they all had a good time along the way. This was going to take a little getting used to.

Cas gave Gail a kiss and said he and Dean would see her and Sam soon, and then he walked away, with a still-befuddled Dean in tow.

Gail glanced down at the piece of paper, then up at Sam. "Well, I guess we'll start walking, then," she said.

Sam stared off into the distance, to make sure that his brother and Cas were gone. Then he looked down at Gail, smiling ruefully. "Do you think you could zap us over there, instead? I'm actually feeling a lot rougher than I was letting on. It's just that Dean gives me such a hard time when I'm hung over - "

" - But he's hung over, too," Gail interrupted.

"I know, but that doesn't matter," Sam insisted. "It's the older brother double standard. You must be familiar with that."

"Oh, you mean the one that says 'I can do anything I want, but you can't, unless you want to be mocked for all time'?" Gail nodded, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I might know a little something about that." Then, her smile faded. "Oh, Sam, what are we going to do about Jody?"

"There's nothing we CAN do, Gail," her friend replied soberly. "We just have to hope and pray that she can fight her way through it, somehow. She's a tough, tough lady. Believe me, if anyone can, she can." There was a pause. "It's Frank who we'll have to take care of more, I think," Sam continued.

Gail laughed humourlessly. "You're right about that. Big, tough guy outside, marshmallow-soft inside. Just like most of the men in my life." She poked Sam playfully, trying to shake off the doldrums. "Come on. Let's go see a lady about an Utterance." She took his hand and they walked outside. They joined the crowd on the Strip and then, a moment later, they vanished. No one noticed.

"What's up with you, man?" Dean asked Cas, as they got into the Impala.

"What do you mean?" Cas asked him.

"Come on, Cas. This new, improved, 'party-like-it's-1999' personality isn't cutting it. I know you, Cas. What's going on?" Dean demanded.

"Nothing's 'going on'," Cas insisted. Then he sighed. "How are you feeling, Dean?"

His friend looked at him. "Me? My head is pounding, and I feel like I'm gonna hurl, any minute. So what? That's a typical Vegas day." A ghost of a smile played on Dean's lips. "Don't you remember? The first night all four of us came here? That was a riot, wasn't it? We had a great time. Well, until the next morning."

"I prayed for death," Cas said fervently.

Dean laughed. "And you promised you'd never drink again, right? Welcome to the club, Buddy."

"But I don't drink now, Dean," Cas pointed out.

Dean's smile faded. "OK. All right. Bad example. Hey, wait a minute. Don't go changing the subject on me. You're good at that. Why'd you ask me how I was doing, anyway?"

"Because you're my friend, Dean, and I love you," Cas said earnestly. "You know, I don't think we say that enough."

"OK, Big Guy, all right. Settle down," Dean said, gesturing with his hands. "We're men. We don't..." He gave up. Cas was giving him the puppydog eyes now. "Okay, Cas. OK. I love you, too. There. Are you happy, now?"

"How do you feel about what's happening with Jody?" Cas said suddenly.

Dean was blindsided. He stared at Cas for a moment. "How am I supposed to feel, Cas?" he said eventually. "Mad. Sad. Crappy. Worried. Sick to my stomach that she's gotta go through this again." He scrutinized Cas's face. "Is that what this is all about? Is this the 'life's-too-short-for-my-human-friends tour?"

"I don't know what that means," Cas replied.

"Yeah, you do," Dean insisted. "You wanna show me and Sam a good time, before we croak." He started to grin. "Works for me."

Cas smiled back at him. There was a lot more to it than that, but Cas was content to just leave it at that for now. "Let's go meet our other halves," he said, and Dean started the car, shaking his head.

Gail and Sam had already collected the Utterance, and they were sitting on a low stone wall drinking iced tea when the men got there.

Dean was looking at them suspiciously. "We drove, and you guys walked. How did you beat us here, get the thing, and get drinks so fast?"

"Sam's got really, really long legs," Gail said, hopping off her perch. "And, I'm just that good." She handed the piece of paper with the Utterances to Cas. "Done, and done. Piece of cake. Sam's got it all in his cell phone. So, what now?"

Cas looked up at the Statue of Liberty, and the hotel just beyond it. "Dean suggested that we check in here. It appeals to him because it looks so...American."

Gail shrugged. "Sure. Whatever. Sounds fine to me."

Dean grimaced. "I hate like hell to admit it, but I think I'm gonna need a nap," he told the others.

Sam let out a relieved breath. "Me, too." He and Gail exchanged a quick glance. That was another part of the elder brother double standard: they had to be the one to crumble, first. If they did, you could go along, and be unscathed. But Lord help Sam if he would have been the one to suggest a nap. Then, he would have had to hear about how much of a weenie he was, over and over again.

"Then we'll all check in, and the two of you can go for a rest," Cas said.

"What are you guys gonna do, while we're doing that?" Dean asked reflexively. He instantly regretted it.

"I imagine we'll find something to keep ourselves occupied," Cas said, taking Gail's hand and smiling down at her.

Aww, geez. He'd had to ask, Dean thought. Well, what the hell. He was already nauseous. "Come on, Sammy," Dean said to his brother. "Let's go recharge our batteries."

Cas turned up the air conditioning as far as it would go, while Gail opened her suitcase. Then she paused, looking down at it. "Should I bother unpacking? We only need four more Utterances. We're probably not going to be here for much longer, right?"

"Oh, I don't know," Cas said in an off-handed tone. "We'll play it by ear." Now, he was drawing the drapes to block the bright midday sun. Then he turned back around to look at his wife. "There," he said. "It should be cooler in here in a couple of minutes."

Gail moved away from the suitcase, towards him. "What's going on with you, Cas?" she asked her husband softly.

"What do you mean?" he countered. "I just want you to be comfortable."

"It's not that," Gail responded. "You just seem so..." What? What did he seem?

"I just seem so...what, exactly?" Cas said, echoing her thought.

"I don't know," Gail mused aloud, still trying to figure it out.

"So in love with my wife?" he said charmingly. He reached out and pulled her close to him. "Guilty, as charged." Cas touched her face gently. "Now, I wonder what we could possibly do to keep ourselves occupied, while Sam and Dean are resting?"

"We could look at the list," Gail said. "Find out where the next Utterance is."

Cas took off his jacket and tossed it on the chair in the corner of the room. "I seem to have misplaced the list, at the moment," he said, his lips twitching.

"Oh. Well, that is a dilemma," Gail said, playing along. "Well, let's see. We don't eat..."

Cas put his arms around her waist and kissed her on the mouth.

"We don't sleep..."

His hands went underneath her top, caressing her soft skin.

"Maybe we could go for a walk..." Gail said, continuing with the game. But a moment later, Cas was kissing her again, and now, he had undone her pants. OK, now he wasn't playing fair. So she did the only thing she could do, really, at this point: she undid his pants, and slipped her hand inside.

Cas inhaled sharply. Well, if she was going to do that, then she was leaving him with no choice, really. His hand went between her legs, into her underwear, and then he started to stroke her gently.

They stood there for another couple of minutes, kissing and touching each other, and then Cas said, "Maybe we could see a show tonight. Would you like that, my darling?"

She opened her mouth to tell him that would be great, but at that moment his hand did something there that felt so good that she had to cry out, instead. Cas smiled. "I'll take that as a yes, then?" he said softly. "And then maybe a drink, afterwards?"

She was still riding the wave, but now, she tightened her hand around him. If Cas thought he was going to get away with that, he had another think coming. She started to move her hand more quickly, then quicker still, until she started to get a reaction from him. He removed his hand from her and pulled his pants down, freeing himself. Now, they were getting somewhere.

"Maybe we could gamble," Gail said, her lips twitching with amusement. She got down on her knees and took him in her mouth. "I believe this is what they call raising the stakes," she said mischievously. Cas groaned, putting his hands on her head. This was also what they called turning the tables, he thought. How had she managed to do that?

After another minute or so, Gail said, "I think I'm ready to continue this discussion on the bed. What do you say?"

Her husband didn't have to be asked twice. He pulled her to her feet, picked her up, and carried her over to the bed in one fluid motion. Then he laid her down and began to kiss the insides of her thighs.

But Gail reached for him. "Come here, Cas. Please."

So he lay on top of her, and she guided him into her. He began to move, and she exhorted him to go faster, so he did. Soon, she didn't have to ask him anymore. The faster he went, the more wonderful it felt. She was wrapped around him now, telling him she loved him, and that she was never letting go of him. Ever. That rendered him speechless, because that was exactly how he felt about her. And, hadn't that really been the lesson that Jody's diagnosis had been trying to teach them? Life was to be loved, and celebrated, and felt. Life was to be lived to its fullest, before it was too late.

"You are everything to me," Cas said in Gail's ear as they continued to make love. "You are my whole life."

While Jody's life was slowly ending and the Angels were wringing every last bit of pleasure out of theirs, a different sort of life was growing in Lebanon, Kansas.

"I can feel the baby moving, in my stomach," Becky was telling Vincent, panicked. "How can that be? Am I going crazy?"

"Not at all, honey. It's just your imagination, because you're so excited about having Sam's baby," Vincent said soothingly. "Now sit down, and drink the health shake that I brought you."

Becky sat down obediently, accepting the glass. She gave the drink a sniff, then downed half the contents, licking her lips. "That's not bad," she remarked. "When you said it was a health shake, I thought it was going to taste like grass, or something. But, it almost tastes like...chocolate."

"OK; you got me. There's some cocoa in there," Vincent admitted with a smile. "But there are also some vitamins and nutrients in the mix. All the ingredients necessary for a healthy baby. Drink up, Becky. Just cause it's good for you doesn't mean it has to be boring. We've got to give the baby what he needs. You're going to get some unusual cravings as the pregnancy moves along, but don't let those concern you. The baby will tell you how to keep him healthy."

"How do you know it's a boy?" Becky asked him curiously.

"I just do," Vincent said evasively. He put his hand on her stomach. "I can just feel that he is. And you can, too. Can't you, Becky?" She smiled and nodded. He was right. Somehow, she could. "And you know what he's saying to me right now?" Vincent continued. She shook her head. "He's saying he wants you to finish that shake, so that he can grow up to be big and strong, like his father."

As Becky finished the drink, Vincent removed his hand from her stomach. This potion had better work. He could feel the kid moving in there, too. But, it was way too soon. Vincent's "health drink" was a spell, designed to decelerate the baby's growth. Sam Winchester was about twelve feet tall, but Becky still had to have what passed for a normal gestation period. He couldn't have the kid popping out in just two weeks, could he? But, Vincent still wanted to bring his son up right, from the very beginning. That was why every shake that Becky would drink would have a few drops of Placida's blood in it, just so the boy would grow into the right type of individual, right from the start. Oh, Becky was going to have some weird cravings, all right. The spell from the potion and the secret ingredient were going to combine together to scramble Becky's brain, to use the term loosely, until she had no sense any more of what was right, and what was wrong. Not that she did, anyway. Look at the circumstances of her having become pregnant, in the first place. If she hadn't been so eager to "roofie" Sam and trap him by having his baby, Becky wouldn't be in this predicament. So really, when you thought about it, the dumb bitch had brought it upon herself.

Just like Placida had. Vincent had told her, time and time again, that he didn't like to be questioned. He'd given her more leeway than most over the years, but when she had started in on him in front of everyone about the vessel he had chosen for The Son, that had been the last straw. Becky may be as dumb as dirt, but Placida's lack of judgement had certainly bitten her on the ass on that day, hadn't it? But, Vincent had been telling her the truth when he'd told Placida that she would play a very important part in the development of The Son. Just, not exactly in the way that she'd envisioned, he was sure.

Vincent giggled a little as he took the empty glass from Becky. "Good girl," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Now, get some rest. I'll be back to check on you later."

"Don't you think I should go down to the modelling agency and tell them I quit?" Becky protested.

"Oh, I already did that for you," Vincent said mildly. Becky's face fell. "What's the matter, dear?" he asked her. "Isn't having Sam's baby the only thing you've ever wanted?"

"Yeah, but..." she started to say uncertainly, and Vincent sat beside her, taking her hand. "Look at me, Becky," he instructed her. "I know this is a really big change for you, but believe me when I tell you that what you're doing now is the most amazing thing a woman can ever do. You're bringing a new life into the world. What could be better than that?"

Becky hugged him impulsively. "You're right, Vincent. Thanks for taking such good care of me."

He kissed her on the forehead again. "Well, that's a very important little package we've got in there." He tapped her tummy. Yes, a very important little package of pure dynamite, he thought happily. His most crowning achievement. "I'll see you soon, Becky."

Vincent vanished, the proud grin still on his face.

Gail came out of the shower, wearing one of her nightshirts. "So, what's the plan?" she asked Cas. He held his hand up, and then she noticed that he was talking on his cell phone. "Yes, Dean. Yes, I understand. You and Sam should go ahead, then. Gail and I will see you in the morning. Yes. No, of course we don't mind. By all means, you should go ahead. No, it's fine. Really." He hung up the phone, looking at her. "Sam and Dean want to go out on the town, by themselves. So, I told them that would be OK. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course I don't mind," she replied. "Let's face it; a lot of things they might be interested in doing, we probably wouldn't be into doing, anyway." She sat down on the bed. "So, what do you want to do?"

Cas smiled. "Oh, I don't know; what do you want to do?"

She smiled. "How bad would it sound if I said I'd love to do more of what we've been doing all afternoon?"

Cas smiled back, taking her hands in his. "That wouldn't be bad, at all," he told his wife. "I would love to do that, too. But I don't think you really mean it."

"No?" Gail said, nonplussed. "OK, then. At the risk of being redundant, what would YOU like to do?"

"I said, that's not what I think YOU would like to do," Cas countered. "I think you would like to get dressed up, and - " He sprang off the bed and went over to where he'd thrown his jacket. He dug into his pocket and pulled out the tickets. " - go see 'The Elements of Time'."

She looked at him, puzzled. "Pardon?"

"I know you like musicals, and so do I," Cas told her. "This is the hottest show in Las Vegas, according to the newspapers. It's a musical, about time travel. And it stars a man named Dax Cavanaugh. Apparently, he was on a TV show a few decades ago. He was - "

" - A teenage heartthrob," Gail said, both amazed and amused. "I remember. He was in a show about a singing family. I used to watch that show all the time, Cas. He was my first crush. Did Frank tell you about that?"

Cas was speechless. Then, finally, he found his voice. "No," he said. "I just saw the ads, when Dean and I were driving here from the Mirage. Isn't that a funny coincidence?"

"Yes, it is," she remarked. But now, she didn't particularly care anymore. She and Cas were going to see Dax Cavanaugh, in The Elements of Time. What could be cooler than that? "I'll get dressed, right away," she said, jumping off the bed.

Sam and Dean had had a great dinner. New York steak, appropriately enough. Sam had partaken, too, even though he didn't eat red meat very often, and then the brothers had shared a great big slab of pie, afterwards. They had played blackjack for about an hour until their stomachs had settled, and then Dean had looked at his brother with a wicked grin on his face. "OK; you ready, Sammy?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam had responded, although there was a slight note of trepidation in his voice. He followed Dean to the ticket window.

"Two, for the Coney Island roller coaster," Dean said, laying his money down.

"It's an honour to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle," Benoit said to Michelle, taking her hand. He kissed it briefly, as was the old-fashioned custom, then released it immediately. "I'm sorry," he apologized smoothly. "I'm afraid I'm a little 'old school', as the expression goes. I hope that didn't offend you."

"Not at all," Michelle told him. "I actually thought it was really sexy...I mean, charming," she amended, blushing.

Benoit threw his head back, laughing. "You are a delight. May I buy you a drink?"

"Seeing as this is my affair, I should hope so," Michelle quipped.

"Your - " Benoit said, feigning surprise. "Do you mean to say that you are Michelle Delacroix? But, I expected a much older, matronly woman."

Michelle grinned. She couldn't help herself. "Well, no. It's just me," she said modestly. "But I'm very glad you came to my fundraiser. Your presence will add a lot of credibility to my cause."

"And just what IS that cause, exactly?" Benoit asked her. He snagged a couple of glasses of wine from a passing server, handing her one.

Michelle dipped her head in acknowledgement of his gesture. "Well, I'm sure you know that this is a fundraiser for a women's rape crisis centre in America," she told him. "But, my goals are a lot loftier than that. If we can raise enough money, I would like to open up a chain of centres, worldwide. But, that's why I'm here. We would need some pretty deep pockets to make that happen."

"You can reach deep into my pockets," Benoit told her. "I love to help with worthy causes."

They looked at each other, and then they both laughed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded," Benoit said, smiling shyly. "I only meant that my family has left me with a lot of money, and not much to spend it on. Therefore, I would love to help you with your cause."

Michelle smiled. "Merci, Monsieur Levesque. The women you will be helping thank you very much."

Benoit smiled down at her. Yes, he just bet they did. He did have sympathy for any woman who had truly been raped, but these days, there seemed to him to be very few of those. There were those women who went around accusing famous men of improprieties just because they were famous. And then, there were those women who paraded around in slutty outfits, who cried rape when the men they'd been trying to attract acted the way that God had intended them to act. Honestly, many women seemed to want it both ways, these days. But Benoit said nothing, because that was yet another politically incorrect opinion he had, and because he was seeking election. Besides, this Delacroix woman was dressed very conservatively, she was polite, and she was from old money, according to his sources. In short, she was a lady, and his stock could only go up if he was seen with her, and seen supporting her cause.

"I'm glad," he said in response to her comment. He lifted his wineglass. "Here's to raising as much money as possible here tonight."

"From your lips," Michelle said, smiling. She drank from her glass, watching his face. Dammit! Why had she gone and said that? What a stupid thing to say. But Benoit Levesque had really thrown her for a loop. He'd shown up here with a ton of reporters and flashbulbs going off, and he'd given a quick statement. But then he'd admonished all the reporters, telling them that the real story here was what the remarkable lady who ran the centre was doing. Then he'd melted into the crowd, and the two of them had met, at the bar. Michelle had been impressed by the fact that he had loosened his tie once the press was no longer taking pictures, and he asked for whatever white wine the bartender had already opened.

"May I escort you to the dais?" Benoit said now, offering Michelle his arm. "I hope you will save a dance for me, after dinner. But, be forewarned: my guilty pleasure is any song by Air Supply. Although I'll thank you not to share that fact with our friends in the press corps."

Michelle laughed delightedly. That had been unexpected. "I won't tell your secrets, if you don't tell mine," she said playfully. She took his arm.

"Holy crap, that thing's fantastic," Dean rhapsodized. "I bought a pass for unlimited rides. Sammy and I are going at least twice more, before the ride closes for the night."

"I have to agree with Dean," Sam said, nodding. "I wasn't sure if I was gonna like it, but it's exhilarating."

"You guys should try it," Dean said, nudging Cas. "I could loan you my pass, if you want."

Gail was looking up at the roller coaster now, open-mouthed. He had to be kidding with this. After she and Cas had gotten dressed up to go to the show, Dean had called back, saying he felt bad about "ditching" the couple. Cas had told Dean what he and Gail had planned, and the men had agreed that the four of them should meet for a quick drink before the show.

The quartet were on the SkyWalk now, about to go their separate ways. Dean was still trying to convince Cas to take Gail on the roller coaster.

"It might be the last manly thing you get to do, before she drags you off to see a musical," Dean said to Cas, a look of disgust on his face from having had to say the "m" word.

"I keep telling you, Dean, Gail's not 'dragging' me anywhere," Cas protested patiently. "It was my idea. I bought the tickets to surprise her. I like musicals, Dean."

"What's so manly about riding a roller coaster?" Gail wanted to know. "I hear lots of screaming coming from that thing."

"Those are the women," Dean said quickly.

"I thought you just said that riding the roller coaster was 'manly'," Gail pointed out.

"I did, but...I...shut up, Gail," Dean said, frowning. Gail and Sam laughed.

"Fine, then, go see your show," Dean said irritably.

"I'll tell you what," Cas said, smiling at his friend. "We'll meet you back at the bar we just went to, after the show. You can tell us about your night, and we'll tell you about the show. Well, unless you think that would be too effeminate. Then, we can talk about beer, and monster truck rallies. How would that be, Dean?"

Gail burst out laughing, and Sam offered Cas a rare high-five. "Good one, Cas," Sam said approvingly, slapping hands with his Angel friend. "That's OK; you guys can tell ME about it," Sam said affably. "I used to watch Dax Cavanaugh's show, too. You had a crush on him, I bet," he added, teasing Gail.

"Who didn't?" she responded with a smile. "I loved his show. I was a young, adolescent girl, watching a show about a singing family. They went on the road because they were performers, not because they were being chased by Demons. And they all loved each other, and teased each other...kind of what we do now, minus the singing."

"Maybe WE should form a band," Sam joked.

"Well, Sammy, you've sure got the Dax Cavanaugh hairstyle down," Dean said, smirking.

"How do YOU know what his hair looked like?" Gail said suspiciously. "Don't tell me you watched the show, too."

"Hey, if it happened to be on when I was in the room, that doesn't mean I was watching it," Dean argued. He nudged Sam. "The sister was kind of hot, though."

"Why do you think I was watching it, Dean?" Sam asked his brother rhetorically. He grinned. "I was an adolescent, too."

"We'd better get going, so we're not late," Cas said, taking Gail's hand. "We'll see you at the bar, after the show. Enjoy your roller coaster."

"Yeah, well, enjoy your...whatever," Dean said, his voice trailing off. The Angels were already gone.

Dean clapped his brother on the shoulder, grinning. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go ride till we puke."

The show had been fantastic, Gail thought. It had laughter, pathos, and some great songs. Dax had aged, of course, but he was still handsome, and he could still sing.

Cas had been enthralled by the show too, and Gail had been glancing at him every now and then, to see if he was liking it as much as she was. And he seemed to be, at least at first. He laughed in all the right places, and he seemed entranced by the musical numbers.

But there was another quality to Cas's expression that she was having more difficulty figuring out. The plot of the show had to do with the time travel, and the potential consequences of going back and changing something. Well, they certainly knew all about that, didn't they? The show was mainly a musical comedy, so the subject was dealt with in a lighthearted manner. There were some sad parts when Dax's character thought he had lost his girl, and Gail had slipped her hand into Cas's during those. They could certainly relate to that, too, couldn't they? But the show ended with the couple reunited, singing a happy song after getting married. Endings really couldn't come in a happier form than that. And Cas and Gail's own story had ended up pretty much the same, hadn't it?

But when the house lights came up, Cas looked a certain way, and once again, Gail couldn't quite put her finger on it. Sad, with a touch of regret, maybe. Maybe even...anger? She was puzzled, but when she asked her husband if he'd liked the show, Cas assured her that he had, very much. Then, they'd gone off to meet the Winchesters.

The four of them were sitting at the bar having a drink, and Dean was in an expansive mood. He lifted his glass in a toast. "Cas, why is it that me and Sammy always have so much fun on these Angel missions?" he asked, semi-rhetorically. "I mean, come on. The Caribbean, here...even those Tablet missions had their moments," Dean said, smiling.

He'd been expecting some lighthearted repartee, but instead, Cas was frowning and looking thoughtful. "Maybe that's because you and Sam deserve it," Cas said soberly. "Maybe because there were so many things you didn't get to do, when you were younger."

Ohhhh. Gail was starting to get it, now. Cas was feeling guilty. Of course he was. That explained everything. That was Cas, in a nutshell. He took responsibility for everything, and everything was his fault. Even when it wasn't. But she couldn't talk to him about it now, because the Winchesters weren't supposed to know that Castiel felt responsible for not having killed Azazel in the desert, when he'd had the chance. That was something they could never tell the brothers about. Wow. It really sucked to be an Angel, sometimes.

Sam and Dean looked at each other, and then they looked at Cas. They weren't quite sure how to respond to what he had said. On the one hand, that might just be the nicest thing he had ever said to them. But on the other hand, they both knew their friend very well, and they could tell that there was something a little off about him. Originally, they had just put it down to Jody's shocking news. That had knocked all of them for a loop. But now, the brothers weren't so sure.

"Did something happen in Saqqara?" Sam asked Cas suddenly.

"Happen? What do you mean?" Cas said. He was trying to be evasive, but the tone of his voice was giving him away.

"Something you're not telling us about, that's what," Dean responded. "Look, Cas, you've been acting weird, ever since you guys got back."

"Weird? Why?" Cas said defensively. "Because I want my friends to have a little fun? What's so weird about that?"

"Nothing, if it was anyone else," Sam replied. "But coming from you, yeah, it's a little weird. Dean calls you 'Major Buzzkill' for a reason."

"Well, maybe I've just decided that I shouldn't be like that anymore," Cas shot back.

"Or maybe you're bending over backwards to not tell us, because that's the way you operate," Dean said. There was a touch of anger in his voice now as he looked at Gail. "What about you?" he asked her. "You know anything about this?"

"About what?" Gail said vaguely.

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. "And, there it is. The Angel crap. I don't know why I expected anything different out of you."

"Leave Gail alone, Dean. This has nothing to do with her. She wasn't even involved," Cas blurted out.

"Oh, so you admit there IS something you're not telling us," Sam said triumphantly.

"Stop badgering him," Gail snapped. Now, she was afraid that the brothers would keep haranguing Cas until he caved, and told them. And what would happen to their relationship, if he did?

But she had underestimated her husband. Castiel had withstood far more rigorous interrogations than this. Still, he stood abruptly. "We will begin early tomorrow morning," he said in his soldier voice. "I suggest you get adequate rest." Then he grabbed Gail by the hand, and the two of them vanished.

The brothers looked wildly around the bar for a moment, but thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed. There weren't very many people in the establishment, and the bartender was nowhere to be seen. It was a dark, quiet bar, as opposed to a party place. That was why they had picked it, because it was a place where they could talk.

"What the hell was THAT about?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam was thoughtful. "I don't know, but I think we'd better find out. Obviously, something's bugging him." He smiled wryly. "We should almost play good cop/bad cop, and separate those two. I'll bet you we could get Gail to crack, in about five minutes. Did you see her face?"

Yeah. Dean had. But now, he wasn't so sure. "Maybe we should just leave it alone," he said slowly.

"What? Why?" Sam wanted to know.

Because Dean had seen it in Gail's face. The fear. "Because, maybe it's something we're better off not knowing," Dean said to his brother.

The two of them sat there in silence for a minute. Then Dean threw some money down on the bar for their drinks and said, "Well, it's getting kind of late. Maybe we'd better get some rest. You heard Cas: 'We will begin early tomorrow morning'," Dean added, imitating Cas's gravelly, serious tone. "Geez, I hope Gail can mellow him out by then."

But Gail couldn't. As Cas took off his suit jacket and put it on the chair, she was telling him she understood that this was all because he felt guilt for not having killed Azazel back in the desert, when he'd had the chance.

Cas undid the knot in his tie, then whipped it off his neck, throwing it on top of the jacket. "Oh, you understand that, do you?" he said sarcastically, and she looked at him in surprise. This was a tone she wasn't used to hearing from him. Nevertheless, she pushed on.

"Yes, I do," she said earnestly. "And you're angry because they were interrogating you about it."

Cas undid the top two buttons on his shirt and then stopped. He faced her. "No, I'm angry because you won't let this alone," he said to her. "You assume that I feel guilty about that, and you're right, of course. A part of me certainly does feel badly about it, and always will. But I have made my peace with it, just as I have had to make my peace with a great many things from my past. I don't wish to talk about this anymore. Why don't you get undressed, and we'll put on the TV?" He picked up the remote.

"Put that down, or it's going out the window," Gail said angrily. "You're not the only one with a temper, you know."

Cas put the remote down slowly, but his lips were tightly pressed together now. Gail knew that look. It was Lecture Time. Well, she wasn't in the mood.

"Oh, don't give me that look of righteous indignation," she said irritably. Then, she sighed. "OK, maybe that was a little harsh. Look, Cas, I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that I wasn't there when all of this originally happened, so it's easy for me to talk about it now. And you would be right. So then I'll say that I'm only trying to get you to open up and talk to me about it. You'll feel much better when you do. So then, you'll say - "

"Do you need me here for this conversation we're having, or should I leave the room?" he deadpanned. "You can call me when we're done."

He had almost done it. He had very nearly charmed her into dropping the subject. Gail started to smile. She was this close to bridging the gap between them. She would stand very close to him and ask him to unzip her dress. He would, and then he would take it off of her, and it would join his suit jacket and tie on the chair. Then she would take his hand and put it on her hip, and he would stroke her hip bone lazily with his thumb. For some reason, that was one of the many things that Cas instinctively did that made Gail feel like she would just melt into a giant puddle on the floor. And she would get up on her toes and kiss the cleft in his chin softly, then lick it. Even if he had stubble there, which was most of the time. Cas loved that, she knew. Although he'd never said so out loud, he didn't have to. She didn't use that move too often, because it might lose its effectiveness as a secret weapon. But every time she did, no matter how upset they'd been with each other, all was instantly forgiven. Cas would draw in a hitched breath, and his eyes would close for a minute. Then his mouth would be on hers, his tongue would be in her mouth, and he would be pulling at the rest of their clothes. Worked every time.

But she couldn't let it go this time, for some reason. Maybe it was because it wasn't like Cas to just shut her out like this. At least, not any more. There had been a time early in their relationship when that was pretty much all he'd done. Well, Gail was going to be damned if things were going to be allowed to regress to that point.

"Why won't you talk to me about this, Cas?" she asked him now. "Is it because you're hiding something from me, too?"

"Was I unclear when I told you I didn't want to talk about it?" he asked her testily.

"No, but..."

"Then, leave it alone," Cas said in his quiet voice.

"So that's that, is it?" Gail said, shaking her head slowly. "We're right back to the days when you used to go up to Heaven by yourself, and not tell me a damn thing about what was going on?"

"Not everything is your business, you know," he said sharply. "I have told you repeatedly that I do not want to talk about this. Yet, you insist on trying to make me do so. You are my wife, so I have been as patient as I can be. But, because you are my wife, you will mind me."

Gail was incredulous. "What did you just say to me?"

"I believe you heard," Cas said calmly. Inside, he wasn't nearly as calm, though. The longer this conversation went on, the angrier he was going to make her. Why wouldn't she just let it go? Cas had thought that simply telling her he didn't want to talk about it would be enough. He supposed he should have known better.

Her eyes narrowed. "Whatever it is that you're hiding, it must be big. You're acting like an ass."

"Am I?" Cas said coolly, wincing inside as he added, "Well, YOU'RE acting like a nagging wife."

That was it. Gail strode angrily over to the table and grabbed Cas's wallet. Like most men, he emptied his pants pockets once they were in for the evening, either on the nightstand at home, or on the table or desk when they were at a hotel. She looked in the compartment where he kept whatever cash he had on hand, then thought better of it and took the bank card, instead. Then she picked up the key card for their room door.

"I'm going downstairs," she told him. She looked at the cards in her hand, then stalked over to her suitcase and whipped out a pair of pants, putting them on underneath her dress. There. Now she had a place to put the cards. She pointed a finger at him. "And don't try to follow me." Then she swept over to the door, and then she was gone.

Cas let out a frustrated breath. But then, suddenly, she popped back into the room, and he relaxed. Now they could apologize to each other, and then they could cuddle.

But the look on Gail's face was sour, and when she spoke, what she said was, "Oh, and that thing I was considering doing to you, once we got undressed? Well, you can just do it to yourself."

And as Cas was puzzling that out, she popped out again.

"Where's Dean?" Gail asked Sam, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

"Upstairs, snoring like a freight train," he answered her. "Where's Cas?"

"Upstairs, being an ass," she said tartly. She reached into the pocket of her jeans, taking out the bank card. "Next round's on him."

Sam regarded her curiously. "What's up with him, Gail? What's going on?"

She sighed. "I wish I knew, Sam. I thought I did know, but clearly, I don't. There's something he doesn't want to talk to me about, and it must be bad, because he's going out of his way to be a real jerk to me, hoping he'll throw me off the scent."

Sam was surprised. Cas was being a jerk to Gail? Well, that was certainly a first. He'd always treated her like spun glass. Now, Sam and Dean, on the other hand...Cas had been a jerk to them lots of times over the years. But, to be fair, they'd been jerks to him too, on other occasions. That was the way it worked in families, sometimes. It was even more of a conundrum when you also factored in the inherent challenges involved in trying to communicate with an Angel. Quite frankly, just because Cas was less of a dick than many of his Angel brethren had been back in the day, that didn't mean that Cas wasn't a dick.

But Sam was also wise enough to know how these things worked. It was a delicate dance, commiserating with someone who'd had a fight with their significant other. If Sam said that Cas was a dick sometimes, Gail might just turn on Sam. Or even if she agreed that Cas was indeed a dick, once she and Cas had made up, she might just tell him what Sam had said, and then Sam would be the dick.

Clearly, a change of subject was needed here. Gail looked so unhappy, and Sam had secretly always known he was going to end up telling her about it, anyway. So when their drinks came, he lifted his glass in toast, and they both drank. Then Sam sat his glass down gently and said, "So, when are you gonna divorce Cas, and marry me?"

Cas had tried to call Dean on his cell phone, but there was no answer. So he popped over to Sam and Dean's room, after leaving Gail a quick note saying where he was, in case she came back. He considered sending her a message over their frequency, but he thought better of it. She'd been much too angry for that. No, he'd best give her some time to cool off, first.

Cas knocked on Sam and Dean's door, but he could hear Dean's snoring from the hallway. So he popped into the room and sat down on Sam's bed, looking at Dean. It was no real surprise that Sam wasn't here. Cas imagined it would be nearly impossible for Dean's brother to be able to sleep through all the noise. Did Dean snore like this all the time? No; he couldn't. Sam would never have survived this long. But, this was inordinately loud. Perhaps it was a product of the aging process in humans, of just of having had too much alcohol.

Cas stood up and sat beside Dean, on his friend's bed. He looked down at him for a moment, and then put his fingers on the bridge of Dean's nose. A moment later, Dean stopped snoring. There. That was better.

Dean's eyes flew open, and he sat up abruptly, looking for his gun.

"It's all right, Dean. It's just me," Cas said softly, and Dean let out a breath, clutching his chest. "Cas! Geez. I think you finally gave me that heart attack, that's been years in the making."

"No, Dean. Your heart is fine," Cas assured him. "It's mine that's breaking."

Dean looked at him. "What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Gail and I had an argument, and she stormed out of our room," Cas told his friend.

Ohhh. Now Dean got it. Mrs. Buzzkill had tried to give Major Buzzkill the wake-up call, but the lines had gotten crossed. "What did you say to her, Cas?" Dean asked him. He attempted to sit up, but Cas was crowding him. "Do you wanna...just..." Dean made a shooing motion with his hands. Then he waited patiently for the circuits to connect. Finally, the look of comprehension dawned on Cas's face, and he got up and moved back over to Sam's bed. "There you go, Buddy," Dean said encouragingly. "Personal space."

Cas told Dean about the fight, and Dean grimaced. Cas didn't say anything about Azazel or the desert, of course. But he did admit that he had basically told Gail to mind her own business, to shut up, and to stop acting like a nagging wife.

Dean was open-mouthed. He couldn't believe that Cas was still alive. "You're lucky all she did was leave," he told his friend.

Cas was nodding. "Yes, I know, Dean. I just kept talking and talking, saying the most objectionable things, hoping she would stop. I couldn't think of any other way to get her to stop."

"Really, Champ? You couldn't think of any other way?" Dean said dryly. "How long have you guys been together, now?"

"Well, I did make a joke, hoping it was going to make her laugh," Cas said miserably. "And I thought, for a moment there, it had worked. But then, she started talking again."

Dean shook his head slowly. Yeah, Gail could be like that, sometimes. Like a Yorkshire terrier, worrying a bone. A laugh bubbled up in his throat, but he kept it in, because Cas wouldn't understand the analogy, Dean was sure. Still, Dean smiled. "Cas, did you ever think of kissing her?" he asked his Angel friend bluntly. "It's what you guys do best, anyway." His smile turned into a smirk. "Believe me, that's usually a great way to keep a woman's lips from flapping."

"Dean..." Cas objected weakly. Then, he sighed. "I thought about trying to make love to her," he continued, with disarming honesty.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he was curious now. "So? Why didn't you?"

"She said that she'd been considering that, too, but then she said I should do it to myself," Cas said sadly. His jaw dropped open. "I just got that," Cas said, amazed.

Dean barked out a laugh, but he quickly turned it into a cough as Cas looked at him, startled. This was just too funny. Dean felt for his friend, but honestly, it was hilarious. Dean didn't know what was funnier: the fact that Gail had actually said that to Cas, or the fact that Cas hadn't known what she'd been talking about. All he knew was that Cas was going to have a lot of groveling to do before the night was over.

But, first things first. There seemed to be a pretty obvious solution here. "Why don't you just tell her what's bothering you, Cas? In fact, why don't you tell me, too, while you're at it? We all know there's something going on in that noodle of yours. Go ahead, Cas. Spill. It'll do you a world of good. I promise."

As Cas was pondering how much he wanted to share with Dean, if anything, Sam and Gail were sharing a laugh.

He'd only been joking about her divorcing Cas and marrying him, of course. Yeah. Just joking. But he'd known it would lighten the mood.

However, after they'd had their laugh, Gail had looked more closely at Sam's face, and what she said next made his head spin. "What are you really doing here, Sam?" she asked the younger Winchester softly. "What's bothering YOU?"

Sam was astounded. "What makes you think something's bothering me?"

"Don't you do that to me, too," she said crossly.

"OK, OK. I'm sorry, Gail." Sam took a drink, trying to stall her. But, really, who was he kidding? He put his glass down on the bar and sighed. "The night we found out about Jody's brain tumor, I called Quinn, to talk to her about it. But I chickened out, she left town, and then I got drunk and slept with Becky."

Gail's mouth fell open. She sure as hell hadn't been expecting to hear THAT. Hoo, boy.

"Go ahead," Sam said. "Tell me what an idiot I am. It gets better, too. Quinn called me the next morning. She heard Becky in the background, put two and two together, and told me to take a hike. As she should have. So, go ahead: tell me I'm scum. I cheated on my girlfriend the minute she left town, and I took advantage of a girl - woman - " he amended hastily "- who's had a crush on me for years. Great, huh?"

Gail stared at him balefully. She wouldn't worry so much about the verbiage, if she were Sam. Girl? Woman? Who the hell cared? "I don't think I'll bother to say much of anything," she remarked. "You're doing a pretty good job of it, yourself." She was reminded of the quip Cas had made, the one about her having their conversation all by herself. That had been pretty damn good, actually. Was he right? HAD she been nagging him? She took a sip of her drink, then sighed. One jerk at a time. "How could you do that, Sam?"

He nodded. This was more like it. He should have just come to Gail in the first place. "I know, right?" he said to her. "That's not who I am. You know that, Gail."

"I thought I did," she said pointedly. Sam winced, but it was no more than he deserved. Gail's forehead was wrinkled now, as if she was trying to solve a really complicated math problem. Next to her own husband, Gail would probably have picked Sam Winchester as the least likely guy to cheat on his girlfriend. Sure, he'd been drunk, but that was no excuse. Yes, they'd been very upset about Jody, but that was no excuse, either. If Sam had wanted to keep his options open, he should have just told Quinn he wanted to break up. How hard was that? But, then again, what did Gail know about the subject? Cas was the only boyfriend she'd ever had. Wait: Cas was the only boyfriend she had ever had. And lover, and husband. But, he had been around since the Beginning of Time. WAS everything in his entire existence her business? Didn't he have the right to some privacy? WAS she a nagging wife?

Sam heaved a sigh. Oh. Right. One man at a time. "As soon as we get back, I'm going to call Quinn and apologize," Sam told Gail now. "If she hangs up on me, I'll drive over there and camp out on her doorstep. Then, if she won't open the door, I'll write a letter of apology and slip it underneath. Not with any aim of getting her back, or anything. Just because it's the right thing to do." He sighed again. "Then, I'll apologize to Becky, too. I'll make it clear that what happened was a mistake on my part, one that I regret deeply. But, don't worry. I'll make sure she knows that she didn't do anything wrong. It was all me. And I'll also make sure that she's clear that it didn't mean anything. I mean...well, you know what I mean," he added sheepishly.

Gail nodded. She actually did know what he meant. "OK, Sam," she said to him, and he looked at her, surprised. "That's it?" he asked her.

"Yeah, Sam. That's it. I believe that you're sorry you were stupid, and that Quinn busted you," she said coolly.

"OK, I deserved that," Sam acknowledged. "But, you know what, Gail? You're being stupid, too. Actually, both you and Cas are."

"Is that so?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, don't keep me in suspense. Go ahead, tell me how stupid we are. But just remember, I have celestial powers, and you don't. And with the mood I'm in right now, I wouldn't test me, if I were you."

Sam raised his hands in supplication. "OK, OK, relax. All I was going to say is that you and Cas have this epic romance, one that most of us would give our right arm and leg for. No, wait a minute: our right arm, and left leg. Otherwise, we would topple over." He smiled, but Gail just looked at him. All right. Fine. She wasn't gonna make it easy on him. "Anyway, I've noticed that you and Cas have no idea how to have an argument."

"Really? So, what, should we roll around on the floor and punch each other out, like you and Dean do?" she said tartly. She smirked at the look on Sam's face. "Cas and I don't sleep," she said, shrugging. "He's a veritable fund of information, once he gets going. So go ahead, Sam. Tell me how to have an argument."

"Geez, it's a good thing I never had to face you in Debate Club," Sam said with a sigh. "Let me try again. From what I can see, because you and Cas have never been in any other relationships with any other people, when the two of you have a fight, it's the most dramatic thing ever. Like, Italian opera, Russian-figure-skating, teenage girl dramatic."

Now, Gail's lips twitched. He wasn't playing fair. "How dare you use humour to make a point?" she asked him. "That's supposed to be MY thing."

"Yeah, and your thing is also how much you and Cas love each other. So you know how silly it is for you to be down here talking to me, when you know you'd rather be upstairs, talking to him," Sam said.

Gail was silent. She had to hand it to Sam. When he was right, he was right.

"You're acting stupid," Dean was telling Cas now. His Angel friend had ended up deciding not to say anything to Dean about what was really bothering him. It wouldn't be fair to Gail to tell Dean first, not when it had been the cause of Cas's argument with his wife. Besides, Cas still didn't really see the need to share it with anyone. He would just suppress it, the same as he always had. None of them would understand who he had been and the choices he'd had to make back then, anyway. Still, he felt terrible about the way he had spoken to Gail. No wonder she had been so angry.

"I know, Dean," Cas said, sighing. "I should never have said those things to her. But, all of you are wrong. There's nothing I need to talk about, because there's nothing that's bothering me. Well, beside the fact that Jody has a brain tumor, I lost the jawbone, and there are still mortal enemies of ours out there on the loose. And now, my own wife hates me. But, other than that, nothing is bothering me."

Dean was the one to sigh now. Boy, when Cas decided to use sarcasm, he really elevated it to an art form. But, it was like Cas and Gail were children, in a way. Dean had been wondering where Sammy had been all this time, but now, he was pretty sure he knew. Dean's brother was sitting with Gail somewhere, trying to talk her off the proverbial ledge. Just like Dean was doing here, with Cas.

"She doesn't hate you," Dean explained to his friend, as patiently as he could. "The thing you've gotta understand about women is they expect you to talk to them about your feelings. Believe me, I learned that the hard way. They don't want to hear any crap about stuff being none of their business, and they don't want you to tell them you think they're being ridiculous. Even if they are, you should never, ever, say that. Got it?"

Cas was horrified. "I would never say that, Dean. I would never think that Gail is being ridiculous, because she isn't. She has every right to be upset with me. I told her to obey me. Why would I say that? That's not how I feel at all. You're right, Dean. I was stupid."

"And suicidal," Dean added, smirking. "What the hell were you thinking? You don't say something like that to any woman, especially not somebody like Gail. You're lucky she let you live."

"I called her a nag, too. Just because she was trying to get me to talk to her," Cas agonized, and Dean was alarmed to see that his friend was on the verge of tears now. "I'm a monster, Dean. Surely she will ask me for a divorce."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas. Buddy. No, she won't. I guarantee you. Just conjure up a couple of those bouquets of flowers like you do, and tell her you're the biggest ass in the universe. Then apologize to her, and tell her that any time she wants to talk about your feelings, you're up for it. Then smooch her, and your problems are solved."

"Are you certain, Dean?" Cas said doubtfully.

"I'm positive," Dean said firmly. "And, another thing: it couldn't hurt your case if you got down on your knees when you said all that. And then, if she still looks like she's considering whether or not to forgive you..." Dean made a face. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but...if she still looks undecided about forgiving you, and you're down there on your knees, anyway..." He shuddered. "OK. That's enough. You think about that for a while, and you'll figure it out. As it is, I'm gonna have to say about a hundred Hail Marys for even starting that sentence."

Dean leaned forward to clap Cas on the shoulder. "Now, get outta here. Go back to your room, make the flowers, and call her on that thingie you guys have. Me and Sammy'll see you in the morning. Call us as late as you want." Dean gave his friend one more encouraging smile, and then he crawled back into bed and rolled over, turning his back on Cas to discourage further conversation.

Gail smiled warmly as Cas's message came through. "It's Cas," she told Sam. As if he couldn't guess. Neither she nor Cas had any idea of how dopey they looked when they were receiving messages from each other in their heads. But Sam wasn't jealous. Much.

She listened for another moment or two, then hopped off her bar stool. "He told me he was a stupid ass," Gail told Sam, smiling. "He wants to talk."

"See? There you go," Sam said, lifting his glass in salute. "I told you it would all work out."

"Yes, you did," she agreed. "And, Sam?" He looked at her inquiringly. "I guess I was a bit hard on you about the whole Quinn/Becky thing," Gail went on. "You're a really good friend, Sam. You know I only want what's best for you. But you're better than that, and we both know it. Goodnight, Sam."

He nodded as she walked out of the bar. Yep, Gail would have kicked his ass in Debate Club. As a parting shot, that had been a damn good one.

He drained his drink and left the bar.

"Please forgive me. Please," Cas said to Gail as soon as she entered their room. She was bemused to see that he had made four flower arrangements, and placed them strategically around the room. Cas always went overboard when it came to things like that. It was just one of his thousands of endearing quirks, the ones that made her love him so much. Not that she was going to tell him so, of course. Not yet, anyway.

"So, which one of these flower arrangements says 'I'm a stupid ass'?" she asked her husband.

"They all do," Cas said quickly. "I wanted to emphasize the point."

Gail's lips twitched furiously. Damn, he was good.

"Will you please have a seat, so I can talk to you?" Cas asked her. She sat in the chair by the table. Instead of taking the other chair, Cas got down on his knees in front of her.

"What are you doing?" she asked him impatiently.

"I'm begging your forgiveness," he said matter-of-factly. "I said stupid, horrible things to you, and I didn't mean a word. I'm going to stay down here until you tell me that you can consider forgiving me. And I will apologize to you, over and over again, for as long as it takes."

"Fine. Well then, you leave me no choice," Gail said. She grabbed the flower arrangement on the table and thrust it at him.

Cas was puzzled. What was she doing?

"Since you said they all mean the same thing, I'm giving these to you. They're MY 'I'm a stupid ass' flowers," Gail said to him. "I'm sorry too, Cas. You were right. Not everything is my business. Even though it hurts me a little to admit it, I have to realize that there may be some things in your past that you don't want to share with me, for one reason or another. As long as they have no bearing on our relationship now, I shouldn't have badgered you about it. I WAS being a nag."

Cas took the flowers from her and set them down on the floor. He reached tentatively for her hands, and was pleased when she allowed him to take them in his. "I should never have said those things to you, my darling," he said, looking into her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

"No, I actually understand why you said most of those things, now," she told him. "But, what I don't understand is why on earth you would ever tell me to 'mind you'. Are you nuts?"

"That's what Dean said," Cas replied, smiling wryly. "He said I'm lucky to be alive."

"Dean makes a good point, every now and then," Gail said sourly. Then she relaxed. "If it's any consolation, Sam said we were both stupid. I guess we must be, too, if we have Sam and Dean Winchester for marriage counsellors."

The Angels smiled at each other, and then Cas was kissing her, vowing to never, ever speak like that to her again. Gail was kissing him back, promising to let a subject drop, the next time he asked her to. Then their clothes were coming off, and then it suddenly dawned on Cas what Dean had been talking about. He laughed, but before Gail had the chance to ask her husband what was so funny, his head was between her legs, and she had ceased to care.

Sam let himself into the room and started to undress for bed. All was quiet at the moment, but Sam could smell a faint whiff of cologne. Yeah, Cas had been here, all right. Hopefully, their Angel friends were making up, right now. Sam got into his bed and fluffed up the pillows. Time for some good sleep.

Dean rolled over onto his back and began to snore loudly. Sam rolled his eyes, looking heavenward.

"Hey, what did I ever - ? Oh. Yeah," Sam said wryly. "I forgot. I'm a card-carrying member of the Stupid Ass Club, too. Never mind."

He sighed, grabbing the other pillow and holding it over his ear. Dean made another loud, snorking noise, and Sam held the pillow tighter against his face. With any luck, he would suffocate by morning.

4 - CAESAR'S PALACE - WHO WILL SAVE YOUR SOUL

Becky'd had a couple of Vincent's health shakes by now, and she was relieved to feel that there was no movement in her stomach at the moment. That had been really weird. Maybe it was just gas, or something. Becky didn't know as much about being pregnant as she probably should, considering her circumstance, but she did know that your body was supposed to go through a lot of weird changes.

So her stomach had settled, but now, all she wanted to do was eat and sleep. She felt like a giant slug. Boy, if this kept up, she was going to be a whale when she started to show. But she couldn't help herself. She made a bowl of instant pudding and ate the entire thing while watching a couple of daytime soap operas. She didn't like watching the game shows, because most of those made her feel really stupid. But the soaps were easy enough to veg out on. She hadn't been following any of the plot lines, but they weren't too hard to catch up on, after a few minutes. Family drama, mysterious guy with an eye patch on, and lots and lots of sex.

Becky laid down on the couch and started to doze. Those love scenes had gotten her a little worked up. There had been one tall, muscular guy who'd sort of reminded her of Sam. So she closed her eyes and cast her mind back to their night in the hotel room. Her hand crept underneath the blanket as she recalled the sensation of him kissing her with his tongue, and how it had felt when he'd been inside of her. Becky smiled now. Sam. God, he was sexy. It was just too bad it had been over so quickly. She should have given him some coffee. Becky hadn't even gotten to the really good part, the part she'd read about in the books and women's magazines. Sam wasn't a selfish guy, so Becky was sure he would have taken care of her in that department, if he hadn't passed out.

Actually, she was pretty close to taking care of herself in that department, right now. But it wasn't the same. Becky frowned momentarily, but then she made her mind shift back to more pleasant thoughts. Sam would propose, as soon as she told him, and he would buy them a nice house on the outskirts of town. It would be a bit of a fixer-upper, but that was OK. It was more than OK, because Sam would work out in the yard, hammering things and sweating. But then, when he realized he was sweating through his shirt, Sam would take it off and toss it on the ground, and Becky would be sitting on the porch, watching him. She would be trying to study a book of baby names, but instead, she would be watching Sam's muscles ripple as he hammered things and chopped wood and stuff. She would put down the book and go into the house, bringing him a cold drink. He would thank her, drinking some water or a beer, maybe, then pour some on his head to cool off. Then he would grab her, and then they would be kissing, and Becky would be undoing his pants, and...

She was very excited now, and she was also very close, Vincent noted with amusement. He had just arrived, and it looked like she was about to, also. God, he was funny. Gail certainly hadn't gotten her wit from whiny Abigail.

He supposed he could just let her finish, considering everything he was going to put the poor girl through later. But Vincent's reputation wasn't built on kindness, and he didn't really care if Becky was happy or not. She was just a container to him. So he cleared his throat.

Becky's eyes flew open, and Vincent grinned. "Don't stop on my account," he said to her. "That's the most honest thing I've ever seen you do."

Becky stopped what she'd been doing, rearranging the blanket to cover herself. "What are you doing here?" she said irritably.

Vincent frowned. "Let's try that again. 'How nice it is to see you, Vincent'," he said in an exaggerated falsetto. "'Thank you for taking care of me, and bringing me food, and health shakes'."

Becky looked at him sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Vincent. You're right. You just startled me. I guess I was having a bad dream, or something."

Looked like a pretty good one to me, Vincent thought. But he no longer cared. "Get up, Little Mother. I've got a surprise for you in the kitchen."

Becky followed him into the kitchen, and she looked down at the plate on the table. There was a steak on it. That was it. Just the steak. She looked at him questioningly.

"Red meat is good for you, and it's good for the baby," Vincent said, pulling out the chair for her. "It's got lots of nutrients, and testosterone, for your son. Come on, sit down. Eat. You want your son to grow up big and muscular like Sam, don't you?"

Becky sat down and picked up the fork and knife. She cut into the steak, and it bled all over the plate. Ewww. "I can't eat this," she said to Vincent. "If I eat steak, it has to be well done."

"Then you're cooking all the nutrients right out of it," Vincent said persuasively. "Try it, Becky. It's been tenderized and marinated by one of the finest chefs in the city. Just try it."

So she took a bite, chewing slowly. Actually, he was right. It was pretty good. She started eating more quickly, and soon, the meat was gone. Then she picked up the plate, and licked it clean.

"That was really good," Becky enthused. "Do you think you could bring me a bigger one, next time?"

Vincent grinned. "Of course I can. Anything you want, Becky. It's all about you, now."

"When is Sam coming back?" she asked him. Becky had just accepted by now that Vincent knew things. She didn't bother to ask him how.

"Not for a few days, yet," Vincent told her. "We're going to have to strategize, before he does. He's going to throw himself on Quinn's mercy and beg her to forgive him. What an idiot. I doubt it'll work, but if it does, she's going to take his manhood, and put it in her purse."

"Forget that," Becky said harshly. "If she thinks she's going to take Sam away from me, she's crazy."

Vincent was smirking now. If he wanted to wind Becky up further, he could point out that it was technically the other way around. But he had an idea, now. A wonderful, terrible, awful idea. Hey, he had nearly nine months to wait for his son to be born, and this would be a great litmus test. Not to mention some damn fine entertainment.

"I'm with you, Becky," he exhorted her. "You've loved Sam for years, and now, you're having his baby. Quinn's just a homewrecking bitch, who's trying to steal your happiness. Are you going to let her do that?"

"No," Becky said shortly.

"Good girl," Vincent said, nodding his head approvingly. "Why don't you have a nap now, and I'll be back later with some more yummy steak, and another health shake. Then we can talk about this...situation. Maybe you can go and see her. Tell her to stay the hell away from your man. Don't worry, Becky. Quinn's not getting her claws on him."

No. No, she wasn't, Becky thought. She went back to the living room and lay back down on the couch. "Thank you, Vincent," she said, yawning. She closed her eyes and fell asleep within seconds. Vincent smiled down at her, almost paternally. Then, he disappeared.

The quartet were at the breakfast table, and things were back to normal, for the most part. Cas and Gail were canoodling, Dean was eating heartily, and Sam was picking at a fruit plate. Thankfully, Dean had rolled over onto his side about an hour after Sam had returned to their room, so the younger Winchester had finally been able to get some sleep. But, Sam was feeling out of sorts this morning. He was glad that Cas and Gail had made up, of course. But every time he looked their way, Sam got the feeling that Cas was eyeing him. Gail had probably told Cas what Sam had done. Or maybe it was just his guilty conscience.

Cas had the list out now, and Gail was looking over his shoulder at it. "There's an Utterance at Caesar's Palace," Cas remarked. "This one may be a bit more of a challenge. Unlike the others, it doesn't give an exact location. It merely says that the original Wonder was The Temple of Artemis."

Sam had his phone out. "Artemis," he mused, typing it in. "Oh. The goddess of the hunt, and of the moon."

"Sounds like our kind of woman," Dean said. He looked at the display on Sam's phone. "Yikes."

"What?" Gail asked curiously.

Dean was smirking. "She really IS our kind of woman. Show her the phone, Sammy."

Sam turned his cell phone around so Gail and Cas could see the picture on the screen. "Holy moly," Gail said, shaking her head in disbelief. "I'm pretty sure a man drew that. How many breasts does she HAVE?"

"I don't know," Dean said innocently. "I didn't look. 'Cause that would be sexist, and it would be wrong."

Gail rolled her eyes. "Nice try, Dean. But you're not fooling anyone. I was married to you for six months, remember? I did your laundry. I know all about the magazine stash in your room."

"Eight," he said quickly. "She has eight."

Gail nodded. "So we're supposed to look for a statue of a woman with eight boobs? That shouldn't be too hard to find."

"As soon as the two of you are finished eating, we will walk down there," Cas said to the brothers. He seemed a little calmer today, they noticed, although his tone was still a little brisk. Still, it didn't look like he and Gail were fighting anymore, so that was something.

They set off for Caesar's Palace a few minutes later.

Benoit had had a wonderful time with Michelle at her fundraiser, but when he'd gotten home, his butler had met him at the door. "We have a problem, Monsieur," the servant had said.

Benoit sighed. "What it it?"

"Gerard had another nightmare," his butler replied. "Olga went into his bedroom to comfort him, and then, we all heard her screaming. I had one of the chauffeurs take her to the hospital immediately, but you may have to smooth things over personally. She's heavily sedated, but the doctors say about one-third of the bones in her body are broken. Actually, the expression they used was 'shattered'. I thought we could tell them she fell off the roof of the house, if we can think of a plausible reason for her to have been up there. But after this, it's going to be harder and harder to convince any of the staff members to go near the boy."

Benoit frowned deeply. Great. That was all he needed. He guessed it served him right, really. He should have just left little Jerry in the compound, for Vincent to explode. But the boy had so much power that it had been impossible to resist taking him. Then, when the rumour mill had started up with regard to Benoit's possible ties to Les Rebelles Blancs, he'd thought it would be convenient to parade the one black child he had at his disposal in front of the press as his adopted son, to quash those rumours. The strategy had worked like a charm, but now he was pretty much stuck with the kid until the election.

"All right, leave it with me," Benoit said calmly. "Is he sleeping now?"

"Yes, Monsieur, as far as I know," the butler replied. Benoit nearly smiled. The man was too scared to go up there and find out. Not that Benoit could blame him. He'd made damn sure the child looked upon him as a father figure way back when he was doing the testing at the compound. That way, Benoit was fairly safe in assuming that the boy would never hurt him. Still, with a child that young, you never knew. Gerard didn't even have to be awake or form conscious intent, apparently. There was no way in hell Benoit was going anywhere near the boy's bedroom tonight. Let the kid scream bloody blue murder. But they were going to have to put a harness on Gerard soon, at least for a while. The election wasn't until next spring.

Benoit walked into his study, and called Dr. Roarke.

The good doctor had popped over to Benoit's mansion with a formula he'd been working on that might be the answer to the problem. It seemed to soften the effects of an individual's particular...talent, without removing it altogether, Dr. Roarke explained. He had tested it on a couple of willing subjects, and it seemed effective, with no apparent side effects. Worked for Benoit. Roarke had distilled it into a liquid form, advised Benoit on the dosage, and then popped out again. Benoit was bemused. He'd never seen a person who enjoyed his work so much. But that suited Benoit just fine. Dr. Roarke was the perfect employee. He didn't eat or sleep, he didn't require a salary, and he could pop anywhere he was required to be at a moment's notice. That was how he had been able to get over to the bar where Andre had gone right after the press conference. Dr. Roarke had spiked Monsieur Gosselin's drink with the poison, then discreetly followed him to make sure the deadly cocktail had done its job. Then the doctor had winked the body away to his lab. Benoit didn't ask too many questions beyond that. When he wanted reports from Roarke, he would ask for them; otherwise, he gave the doctor total autonomy. They both had similar goals, even if they approached them in different ways.

The next morning, Benoit woke and went downstairs early. He spoke to the kitchen staff, showing them the bottle that Dr. Roarke had given him. Gerard had a stress disorder, Benoit explained to the people who prepared and served the food. But, like most little kids, he was reluctant to take his medicine. So, whoever served the meals was to put a teaspoon of this liquid in Gerard's juice in the morning and milk at lunch, and dinner. Roarke had assured Benoit that the boy would not taste it.

He'd left for work shortly thereafter, making a mental note to stop by the hospital after the staff meeting. He would visit Olga, and find out what her prognosis was. Benoit already had one of Vincent's other "special kids" all lined up to go with him to the hospital. Ursula was 21 years old, blonde, and buxom. She was Benoit's ideal type of girl. If he didn't have to worry about appearances, he would have propositioned her a long time ago. She was a perfect Aryan female, the product of thousands of years of impeccable breeding. And, as a bonus, her temperament was ideal, as well. On the surface, the young woman was pleasant and professional. But underneath, she was simmering with pent-up rage. She had spent most of her childhood in the foster care system, being passed from family to family once she'd become too hard to handle. Ursula's special talent was the ability to inflict wounds on a person, just by looking at them. But, unlike little Gerard, when Ursula employed her talent, it was never by accident. Rather, it was the result of a conscious desire to cause her victim great pain. Benoit had been delighted to discover what Ursula could do back at the compound, and he hadn't hesitated to offer her a position working in his campaign office. She seemed content to be doing that for now, prior to the election. Benoit had made them all promises that, if they stuck with him now, they would be handsomely rewarded, come the spring.

Ursula loved to use her talent when called upon, so Benoit had had no difficulty in persuading her to accompany him to the hospital following the staff meeting. There, she would pose as Olga's grieving sister, weaving a back story of her poor sister's battle with depression. She must have tried to kill herself by jumping off the roof of the mansion, Ursula was going to tell the doctors. Benoit was going to provide her with an obscene amount of money to bribe Olga with, once the girl woke up. She was to corroborate the attempted suicide story, take the money, and leave France. Benoit didn't care where she went, as long as she left, and kept her mouth shut about what had happened in his house. And if for any reason Olga didn't go for it, Ursula had the green light to go to town on her. Olga would either take the deal, or die tragically and very painfully from her "suicide attempt".

Once Benoit got to his office, he placed a quick call to a downtown florist, arranging to have two dozen red roses sent to Michelle Delacroix. The card was to read that he'd had a wonderful time last night, and he would love to see her again.

Then he got up from his desk and walked to the conference room, whistling a happy tune.

They had walked and walked up and down the concourse of Caesar's Palace, but they were no closer to finding the Utterance than when they'd begun. This had been an unexpected bump in the road for the four of them, and they were all growing a little irritable about it. Up till now, everything had been so easy. The paper had told them the exact location of the Utterance, and they'd gone there and recorded it. Boom. Simple. But now, they'd been walking around for the better part of an hour, and still...nothing.

"Cas, are you sure there's nothing else about The Temple of Artemis that you haven't told us?" Sam asked their friend.

Cas gave him a baleful stare. That hed been a poor way to put it, especially after the events of last night. He reached into his pocket and showed Sam the piece of paper. "Perhaps you can pick up on something I missed," Cas said acidly. "The two sentences you see there ARE pretty complex."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to be patient. He didn't want to start another fight so soon after last night's debacle.

"How hard can it BE to find a statue of a woman with eight boobs?" Gail said, frustrated.

"Maybe they built the statue, but then they had to lop a few off of it when the feminists complained," Dean joked.

Gail glared at him. "Was that a shot at me? Well, all I can say about that is: one boob down, seven to go."

"Maybe we're approaching this too literally," Sam mused. "Maybe we're not supposed to be looking for an actual statue of the goddess Artemis. Maybe we should be looking for something to do with hunting, or the moon. I wonder if there are any gun shops here."

"Gun shops?" Gail echoed. "I highly doubt it. This is more upscale shopping, here. Look up and down this hallway. What do you see? You see a lot of places for people to go who have too much money, and no idea what to spend it on. Designer labels, expensive perfume and jewelry. Frou-frou stuff, that nobody gives a crap about. Well, nobody normal, anyway."

"Said no woman I've ever met," Dean wisecracked, but then he had to admit to himself that that wasn't true. Nicole wasn't like that. Neither was Gail, or Jody. He felt the familiar pang of sadness when he thought about Jody, but he brushed it off for the moment. They had a puzzle to solve.

But along came Cas to weigh in now, and he pulled no punches. "This place is the very picture of decadence," he said with a frown. "I'm sure it's no mistake that this is called Caesar's Palace, because everything here reflects ancient Roman times. 'Designer' things, marked up to ridiculous levels. The unnecessarily opulent decor. I saw a fountain back there that was actually named after the Fall of Atlantis. The very idea," he scoffed. "You know what this place reminds me of? The moneychangers, at the temple. The merchants that are motivated by Greed. They're hypocrites. They Sin on Saturday, then go to church on Sunday and think that absolves them, because they have dressed in their fineries and gone to a building for an hour out of their week. I don't think so." He laughed humourlessly. "But, they'll be judged in the end. We all will be, for our transgressions."

Gail and the Winchesters were staring at each other open-mouthed, their petty squabbles forgotten. What the hell was this, now? They'd come here looking for a stupid statue, and suddenly, they were getting the Sermon on the Mount. Nothing was bugging Cas? Yeah. Right.

Gail sighed. "Has this place got one of those directories? You know, like malls have? Maybe we should see if there are any stores that are in the ballpark of what we're looking for. It's something to try, anyway. It beats walking around aimlessly for another hour."

"I should be able to pull that up," Sam said, taking out his cell phone.

Gail nodded. Of course. Of course he could. They waited patiently as the younger Winchester did his search. Dean was staring at Cas, but Cas was looking straight ahead, expressionless. So Dean looked at Gail and said, "'Frou-frou'?"

As she shrugged, lips twitching, Sam said, "Got it. A list of all the Forum Shops."

Cas rolled his eyes. The Forum. Of course that's what this place would be called. Why didn't they just bring in a couple of hungry lions, while they were at it? That would certainly give a whole new meaning to the phrase "conspicuous consumption", wouldn't it?

Cas had no idea why he was so out of sorts this morning. He could see the puzzled looks on all of their faces. He should be happy now. Last night had been awful, but it was over now, with no lasting damage done. Dean had been right; once Cas had apologized properly to Gail, she had forgiven him, and the Angels were closer than ever now. She had said nothing about wanting Cas to tell her what had been bothering him, and he had told her, over and over again, that he had been an idiot. An ass. A first-class fool. Cas didn't mean a word of what he had said to her, he'd told her, and he would never say anything like it again. She was his world, his everything. He placed her above all else. After a while, she had touched his face and told him that he could stop. He was forgiven, and the whole thing would be forgotten. Then she had climbed on top of him and kissed his face, and Cas had closed his eyes, smiling. Then, she had licked the cleft in his chin, and there was just something about that little kitten lick there that always drove him crazy. He didn't know if it was something she did intentionally to get that kind of reaction out of him or if it was just one of the many ways she had of loving him, but Cas didn't really care. He'd rolled her over on her back immediately, making a low noise in his throat, and then he was lifting one of her legs and pushing into her. He hooked her leg around his waist and reached underneath her to pull her closer to him, as he picked up the rhythm. Then, as she'd told him how much she loved what he was doing and how much she loved him, Cas felt the warmth and saw the brilliant colours he always saw in his mind's eye when he reached the apex of their lovemaking, and he cried out with how much he loved her, too.

Cas snapped out of his reminiscence as Gail exclaimed, "I found it! Look!" She was pointing to the screen on Sam's phone.

"What?" Sam asked her.

"See the name of that store? The one to the left of the L-shaped bend, up there?" she replied, gesturing.

Sam almost smacked himself on the forehead. He looked up from his phone at Dean and Cas. "There's a store called Artemis here," he told them.

"Get outta here," Dean said, shaking his head. "What's it sell?"

"Who the hell cares? Let's go!" Gail enthused. She approached Cas, taking his hand. "Are you OK, sweetie? Or have you got another rant in you, before we go?"

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "No, I'm fine. I'm sorry; I guess I was just frustrated."

"That's okay, Buddy. Let's go get this thing," Dean said. "Then we'll go get lunch. I wanna try the buffet at The Venetian."

"What a coincidence. There's an Utterance there, too," Cas said.

"Cool. Let's go, Big Guy," Dean said, prodding his friend, who still wasn't moving. "I want to go to the wax museum there, and they've got those canals. If you're still feeling like you want to do something Holy, you can walk across one. It'd impress the hell out of Gail."

"Never mind Gail; it'd impress the hell out of ME," Sam wisecracked, and off the four of them went, side by side, like they were going to see the Wizard.

There was only one problem. Once they were standing in front of the store, the group saw that there was a sign on the window that said: "Only properly dressed patrons will be admitted."

"Wow. Really?" Sam said, shaking his head. "Talk about elitist bullcrap. Somebody should report these guys to the Equal Rights' Association."

"Would THAT qualify as 'frou-frou'?" Dean inquired, nudging Gail.

"Well, I did have an 'f' word or two in mind," she quipped.

Cas sighed. "I don't suppose you two brought anything dressy to wear," he said to Sam and Dean.

Dean gave him a look. "What do YOU think?"

"Fine," Cas said. "We will go back down the hall. I saw a store that sells designer clothes there. We'll get the things we need, find the Utterance, and then return the clothing."

"Isn't that stealing, Cas?" Sam asked him, semi-rhetorically.

"No. Merely borrowing," Cas said calmly. "The proprietor of the store will get the clothes back, none the worse for wear, and we will be able to enter the store where the Utterance is."

"Works for me," Gail said, taking him by the arm. "As long as we don't have to pay these inflated, greedy-bastard prices, I wouldn't mind seeing you in an Armani suit, or a D & G, for a few minutes."

Sam grinned. "For somebody who's so against designer labels, you seem to know a bit about them."

"I know what nuclear weapons are too, Sam," she pointed out.

He smiled. Damn, she was good.

The Angels used the two-finger system on the salespeople at the clothing store, and the quartet changed into expensive outfits. The men wore designer suits and silk ties, and Gail chose a simple black dress with a V-neck, which cost way more than it should have.

"Wait here," Cas said to her, and she pretended to browse for a couple of minutes. Then Cas came back, carrying a black velvet box. "I borrowed one more thing," he said with a thin smile. He opened the box, and Gail's eyes widened. Nestled in the box was a huge, sparkly, diamond necklace.

"You've got to be kidding me with this," she said, looking closely at his face.

Cas shrugged. "We have to look the part, don't we?" His lips twitched. "You wouldn't believe how much this would cost to buy."

"I don't think I want to know," Gail said with disgust in her voice. "Probably enough to feed a small nation for a year."

Cas laughed softly. "You're not wrong," he told his wife. "Turn around." She did, and he put the necklace on her as she lifted her hair to give him easier access. This was one of the many, many reasons why Cas loved her so much. She really meant what she was saying. If he even attempted to buy this necklace for her, she would probably punch him right in the face.

He leaned down and kissed her softly on the side of her neck, clasping the necklace closed. "There. Now you look the part," he told her, turning her back to face him.

"OK, let's get this over with, then," Gail said. "This thing weighs a ton. Now I know how Rose felt." Then she smiled. "But, at the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, you look amazing."

"Let's get this show on the road," Dean said, pulling at his collar. "This is a more expensive monkey suit, but it's still a monkey suit." He peered at Cas. "What's that you're wearing?"

"It's called an ascot, Dean," Cas replied patiently.

"That's where jerks sleep, right?" Dean said, elbowing Sam. His younger brother gave him the obligatory laugh, but Sam was preoccupied now, trying to pull the cuffs of his shirt down to the proper length. If he'd been even half an inch taller, they wouldn't have been able to fit him in this store.

They headed back to Artemis. Cas opened the door and strode in confidently, with his nose turned up slightly. Gail had to suppress a laugh. Maybe Cas and the actor who played him in the Supernatural movies should switch jobs for a day. From what she'd seen, the actor was pretty much of an Angel in real life, and a large part of her thought that Cas had missed his calling. He really liked to throw himself into any part that he was playing.

Cas held the door open for Gail, and she tottered through on the high heels she was wearing. She could hardly have worn her comfy shoes with the dress and the diamonds. But Gail realized now that she was very inexperienced when it came to walking in heels of any kind. She'd better go slowly, or she was going to make a very embarrassing spectacle of herself.

But, hey, at least she was taller, if only for a few minutes. So THIS was what it was like to be a woman of normal height, she thought wryly. She looked at Dean. Noticing that his tie was crooked, she motioned to him, and he looked at her quizzically. She let out a breath, closing the gap between them.

As Gail was straightening Dean's tie, Sam said, "Bingo."

"Hey, quit choking me," Dean protested, and Gail said, "Well, let me finish, then."

"Shouldn't you have a ridiculously expensive purse hanging on your arm, with a barking little poop machine poking its head out of it?" Dean said to Gail, making her laugh.

"Excuse me, may I be of some assistance?" a prissy-looking man said, approaching the group.

"We're interested in that painting," Sam said, pointing to the wall. It was an oil painting of a woman who was wearing a leafy crown, with a bow and arrow in her hands, and a full moon in the sky, in the background. But two breasts were all she had, Gail noted, looking at Dean and raising an eyebrow. He crossed his eyes, and she nearly burst out laughing again.

"Artemis, the Goddess of Hunting," the salesman said. "That's a very good rendition. She's who our store is named after." He looked at Cas. "Are you gentlemen together?"

"Yes, we are," Cas confirmed, nodding. Sam had to turn his head to hide his grin. He wasn't sure if Cas understood what the sales rep was implying, or maybe he just didn't care. Those kinds of things had never really mattered to Cas, so he had never really paid much attention to them.

"My sister and I are friends of the groom," Dean said with great delight, nodding towards Cas. Then he looked at Sam. "He wanted to buy his bride a new painting for their living room."

"His bride?" the salesman said uncertainly, and Dean nodded. "Pre-op," he said with a straight face.

Angel or not, Gail was going to pee herself soon, if Dean kept this up. She walked away from the group, trying to compose herself. But then she realized that she was being way too easy, here. She couldn't let Dean get away with this unscathed. So she wobbled back to the group on her high heels, and put her hand on Dean's arm. "Now, now, we talked about this, Egbert," she said to him. "You promised you weren't going to be jealous. We just haven't found the right guy for you, yet."

"Take it down from the wall," Cas said to Sam, at his snobbish best. "I want to look at it more closely."

"You see how he talks to me?" Sam said, playing along. He reached for the painting. When the salesman made no objection, Sam took it down and brought it over to Cas for closer inspection. Both men could see that there were some words etched on the frame, at the very top of the painting.

Suddenly, Gail heard Cas's voice in her head. He was asking her if she could obtain a pen and a piece of paper. He was going to try to commit the Utterance to memory, but...

"I need a pen and a piece of paper," Gail said to the salesman, trying to adopt a haughty tone.

He looked down at her, saying nothing for a moment. Crap, she thought. Why could Cas pull it off, and she couldn't? Maybe she SHOULD have brought a purse dog; then she could have had it bite that lemon-sucking expression right off this guy's face.

But then, the man reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pen and a pad of paper. She took it and started writing random names down, as a cover. "I just thought of a few guys I could set you up with," she said to Dean, enjoying the look on his face. Cas recited the Utterance to her in her head, as he ran his hand along the wood of the frame. "This is of good quality," he said aloud to the salesman.

"Of course it is, Sir," the man sniffed.

Gail repeated the phrase back to Cas in his head, and he gave a brief nod. So she ripped the top page off the pad and gave it and the pen back to the salesman. Then she folded the piece of paper and extended it to Dean, who gave her a momentary glare. Then he took it and put it in the inside pocket of his suit.

"I need to think about this a little more," Sam said, putting the painting back on its hanger on the wall.

"Fine," Cas said indifferently. "I'm not interested in shopping, anyway. Next time, I'll just give you my credit card, and you and Egbert can pick out whatever you think you might like." He pointed at Dean. "Just don't try anything."

OK, that was it; Gail officially lost it. She excused herself and hurried out of the store as fast as those heels would take her. She barely made it. The instant she got back out to the corridor, she doubled over, laughing.

The men followed a minute later, and Sam was grinning widely. "I'm not sure what pissed Dean off more," he told her, "the fact that you had him being my ex, or the fact that you named him Egbert."

"Egbert?!" Dean exclaimed. "What the hell, Gail? Who names somebody Egbert?"

She shrugged. "Serves you right for trying to make me laugh."

"Did you get the Utterance, my darling?" Cas asked, putting his arm around her waist.

"Really?" Sam objected, still grinning. "Right in front of me? All right, that's it. The wedding's off."

Gail laughed again. "I got it, Cas. It's in Dean's pocket."

"Let's return these things and get back into our comfortable clothes," Cas said. "Then we'll walk to the Venetian, and get the two of you some lunch. I can hear Egbert's stomach growling."

And before Dean could think of a good retort, Cas was already leading the way down the concourse.

She had bided her time, carefully watching the daily routines and movements of anyone that she thought might accost her. It has been pretty easy to figure out the window of opportunity. She had been quiet, and unobtrusive.

And there was a definite window, a big, gaping one, around lunch time. Like most publicly funded institutions, the place was understaffed, and many of the workers who did menial jobs there were apathetic, at best.

While lunch was being served to the occupants, the kitchen area was left empty by the cooks and dishwashers for a time period of about twenty minutes. Half of the staff went outside to smoke, and the others went off someplace to check their devices. In the politically correct times of the day, there was no smoking allowed within a certain radius of the building, so the workers had to hustle a block over from the alleyway behind the kitchen. They were only allotted fifteen minutes for the break, and that wasn't a lot of time. So, whoever was last out of the kitchen propped the door open with a wooden wedge, so that they could come back the way they'd left.

Every day this happened, and every day no one seemed to notice, or to care. So she waited another couple of days, but when everything remained status quo, Patricia slipped out the kitchen door and scurried off down the alleyway.

5 - THE VENETIAN - MAXWELL'S SILVER HAMMER

They got to the Venetian and, as the brothers were eating lunch, Gail was drinking ice water.

"Shouldn't it be cooler outside by now?" she groused, holding the water glass to her forehead. "It's October now, for Heaven's sake."

Cas looked at her, startled. "It is?" he said.

"Yeah," she replied. "It's October 1st."

"Oh, thank goodness. I haven't missed it," he said, heaving a sigh of relief.

Gail smiled. "If you're talking about my birthday, or at least, the date we always thought was my birthday, don't worry about it, Cas. It's kind of a moot point now, anyway. And besides, it wouldn't be fair to you, since we don't know what day you were born."

"Too bad the dinosaurs are extinct, or we could just get one of them to tell us," Sam wisecracked.

"I wasn't necessarily talking about your birthday, I was thinking of our wedding anniversary," Cas pointed out. "It seems we never get a chance to celebrate it. The original one, I mean."

"Take her on a gondola ride," Dean said around a mouthful of food.

"I would love to take Gail back to Italy, Dean, but we're in the middle of a mission right now," Cas said to their friend.

Sam smiled. "He means here at the Venetian, Cas. They have gondola rides, that go through the canals downstairs. You can get something called the 'romance package'. I saw a sign, when we came in."

Cas was excited. While he would have preferred Venice, that sounded like a perfectly fine option for the time being. It was a little early for their anniversary, but who knew where they would be, then? He was thinking of their first wedding, of course, as he had said. Technically, they'd had two, but the first was the important one, as far as Cas was considered. They should never have had to have a second. Also, considering the fact that he and Gail had argued last night, it was very important to Cas to make a romantic gesture toward her now.

"I want to do that," Cas said eagerly. "Let's obtain the Utterance, and then Gail and I will go for a gondola ride."

"Good," Sam said, nodding. "Dean and I wanted to go to the wax museum, anyway."

"I wanted to do that, too," Gail piped up. She smiled. "Never Have I Ever been to a wax museum."

"Before you ask, Cas, a wax museum isn't a museum with a bunch of candles in it," Sam quipped.

Cas gave him an indulgent smile. "I was at the original Madame Tussaud's in London in 1835, its inaugural year. But, you're quite correct, Sam. They did use candles, for lighting. It was very atmospheric, actually."

Gail was looking at her husband now, shaking her head slowly. There were still so many untold stories Cas obviously had, from his past. So much that she didn't know about him, still. But they never seemed to have enough time for him to talk to her about them, at his leisure. Plus, he was apparently still very sensitive about some things. Oh, well. She supposed that patience was a virtue, and she'd better start practicing some, or they were going to have a lot of problems, going forward.

"I'll tell you what," Dean said, pushing his empty plate away from him. "Sammy and I'll go back to New York, New York and get Baby. Our stuff's all in the trunk. We'll drive back over here, and when you guys are done doing that romance crap, we'll all go to the wax museum." He smirked. "Cas can tell us which of those historical guys looks the most realistic."

Their friend smiled. Yes, he could definitely do that. "Thank you, Dean," he said, glad that the brothers were willing to wait to include Gail in the excursion.

Gail was thrilled, too. "It might as WELL be my birthday," she enthused. "A romantic gondola ride with the love of my life, and then, the wax museum with you guys. It's my lucky day." She smiled at Cas. "Let's see that Utterance, sweetie. I'm anxious to get it done, now."

He produced the list. "The Venetian is the modern-day equivalent of The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus," he said.

"Hali-ca-whatsis?" Dean asked, but Cas merely smiled. "It doesn't matter, Dean. That was an above-ground tomb, in ancient Greece. I could tell you more about it, but I don't want to be accused of building a clock."

"Watch," Dean corrected him, and Gail gave him a look. "Settle down, Egbert," she quipped, and he made a face.

"Anyway, the list says that the Utterance should be on one of the newels on the stairway leading up to the concourse where the marble statues are," Cas continued.

"Sounds simple enough," Sam said, standing from his chair. The others followed suit.

And, unlike the last Utterance, it had been. Cas found the Utterance about halfway up the staircase, and Sam recorded it in his phone. Now, with the one they'd gotten from Caesar's Palace, that made five. "Two more to go," Sam said.

The Angels arranged to meet with the brothers in an hours' time, and Cas took Gail by the hand to buy a ticket for the gondola ride.

Quinn was back from Michigan now, and she was depressed. She'd stayed for the Expo, but it had been impossible to network with other people in her profession, because all she'd been able to think about was Sam, and how much he'd hurt her.

She still couldn't understand it. Sam had called her when she'd been at the train station, and they'd had a brief and unremarkable conversation. She'd thought that she had detected a certain quality in his voice, enough for her to have debated whether or not to leave town. But in the end, she had gone, and Sam had slept with Becky, pretty much at the moment that Quinn's train had left the state. What the hell? What had THAT been all about?

She poured herself a glass of wine and brought it into the living room. Her suitcase still stood in the doorway that led from the living room to the front hallway. She guessed she should unpack at some point, and take the message off of her voice mail that said she was unavailable. But she just wasn't in the mood right now.

What the hell had happened to her and Sam? Yes, they'd had their disagreements and their ups and downs, but there had been no sign, no indication that anything like this was in the offing. There was a rich sort of irony to the fact that she was a psychic who'd had no idea that her boyfriend had obviously been looking for an opportunity to cheat on her. But, this was Sam. Quinn knew he wasn't that kind of a guy, and she also knew that Becky and her attentions made Sam uncomfortable. This was like a jigsaw puzzle that was missing a few pieces, smack in the middle. Pieces that were vital to see the full picture.

But in the final analysis, did it really matter? Even if she could figure out why on earth Sam had hopped into bed with Becky, what then? Quinn had to take a stand, and she had to stay strong. She'd already taken him back, once. But...Becky? Empty-headed Becky? That made absolutely no sense. None. Even Gail would have made more sense. And Quinn hadn't really meant that, anyway. She'd just been angry.

There was a knock at the door, but Quinn ignored it. Probably a client; a drop-in. She got those, sometimes. If she just sat here quietly, they would go away. But she'd better get her act together soon, Quinn told herself. Cheating boyfriend or no cheating boyfriend, she had bills to pay.

Another knock, then another, and then, the doorbell. Quinn set her wine glass down on the coffee table, letting out a frustrated breath. This had better not be some lovelorn girl, wanting a reading on which of her many boyfriends she should marry, or Quinn couldn't be held responsible.

For some inexplicable reason, Quinn took the long way around to get to the front hallway. She could have just moved the suitcase, but she didn't. Maybe she'd been hoping that if she took her time getting to the door, whoever it was would just go away.

No such look. Quinn opened the door, and she was utterly blindsided.

"We have to talk," Becky said.

Once they'd gotten into the gondola, the young man who was serving as the gondolier handed Cas a small basket. As he pushed off the side of the dock using a long pole, the gondolier said, "Buongiorno. My name is Giuseppe. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your voyage more romantic."

As Cas was opening the basket to look inside, Gail was smiling up at the young gondolier. "Is your name really Giuseppe?" she asked him.

The youth answered her smile. "No, it's Paco," he said sheepishly. "But, we're supposed to pretend to be Italian. I know how to sing 'O Sole Mio', though."

"That's all right. We're just going to be talking quietly," Cas told him, and Paco said, "As you wish, Sir."

"What's in the basket?" Gail wanted to know, as they started to float down the canal.

"A couple of sandwiches, a bottle of wine, and a single red rose," Cas said, smiling faintly. "Not really anything we'd be interested in, unless you want me to open the bottle of wine."

"No, that's OK," Gail said. "Let's just snuggle."

Cas wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. The Angels enjoyed the serenity for a couple of minutes, and then Cas said, "I'm very sorry for the way I've been behaving, my darling. You were right; I've had some things on my mind. I suppose I should have talked to you about them. And I will; I promise. It's just...we've had so much going on, and..."

"No, Cas," she said. "No, it's OK. I shouldn't have pushed you like that. I know we've had a lot on our plate. It's OK. Just tell me whenever you're ready. I don't want to have another fight. I hate it when we argue. Let's just enjoy the moment."

Cas's arms tightened around her. He couldn't believe how sweet she was being about the whole thing. He hated it when they argued, too. He looked up at the gondolier. "Do you know any other love songs?"

"Not really," Paco admitted. "To tell you the truth, I'm a heavy metal fan."

Cas nodded. Of course. He looked at Gail. "There's an Italian song called 'Vivo Per Lei'. The translation is: 'I Live For Her'. It's an operatic pop tune that tells a hauntingly beautiful story about living for love. It describes a love that is never lost, but rather, lives on forever."

Gail was smiling at her husband. Those guys could keep their picnic basket; this was the romance package, right here.

Cas went on: "I remember some of the lyrics. Roughly translated into English, they say, 'I live for her./I have, since the first time I found her./I don't remember how, but she entered me, and there, she remained./I live for her, because she makes my soul strong./Now, I can cope with all the hurt, and the sadness./You are the one who gives me hope, in this kind of love and madness.'"

"Cas, that's beautiful," Gail said, touching his face. Her eyes were misting with tears.

"It's how I feel," he told her, kissing her on the lips.

"I love you so much, sweetie," Gail told him. "And, don't you worry. Whatever it is that's on your mind, whenever you feel like talking to me about it, I'll understand. I promise."

Quinn couldn't believe it. What was her life, a damn soap opera, all of a sudden?

"Why are you here, Becky?" she asked the girl in an irritable tone. "Are you here to gloat?"

"No," Becky said. "I want to talk to you about Sam. Can I come in?"

Quinn heaved a sigh. She considered just slamming the door in the stupid bimbo's face, but a teeny-tiny part of her really wanted those puzzle pieces. So she opened the door and let Becky in. But then she stood right there, keeping Becky in the hallway. That was just about as far as Quinn was willing to go.

"Go ahead, then. Talk," Quinn said tersely.

Becky looked at the woman who she perceived to be her rival. Boy, was Quinn ever rude, she thought. But Becky guessed she could kind of understand.

"I just wanted to tell you to leave Sam alone," Becky said, and Quinn's jaw dropped in amazement. "What?" the psychic exclaimed. "What did you just say to me?"

"Sam loves me, not you," Becky insisted.

Quinn laughed scornfully. "Fine. Whatever," she said.

"He does," Becky pressed on, as if Quinn had argued with her. "And I love him, too."

"Fine. May the both of you be very happy together, then," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "I guess you didn't get the news flash. Probably too busy looking for your underwear, I imagine. I broke up with him, Becky. Now, get lost. I want you out of my house."

"I'm having his baby, Quinn," Becky blurted out. She didn't believe a word Quinn was saying. She was probably just trying to appease Becky, to make her go away.

"WHAT?!" Quinn shouted. She stared at Becky, open-mouthed. Then, it dawned on Quinn: that was the missing puzzle piece, right there. "So, you're trapping him, then."

"No, I'm not," Becky said, agitated. "Why would you say that?"

Wow. Just...wow, Quinn thought. Was she really that stupid? "Let me ask you something, Becky. Had you and Sam ever slept together before that night?"

"No. Just that one time," Becky assured her.

"Then, how could you know you're pregnant?" Quinn asked her pointedly. "That was less than a week ago."

Becky pursed her lips together. Quinn was right, of course. Even Becky knew that. But all that Becky heard right now was the whining of a sore loser. "Well, it doesn't matter, because I am," she insisted.

"OK, let's just say for the sake of argument that you are," Quinn said. "Did you tell Sam that?"

"He's out of town right now," Becky said, proud to know something about Sam that Quinn didn't seem to know. "But, I will. I'm just waiting for the right time. I'm not trapping him, Quinn. He loves me."

Quinn was ready to rip her hair out by the roots now. "No he doesn't, Becky!" she yelled, out of sheer frustration. "You keep saying that, but you're delusional! You were never even on his radar. If you're even telling the truth about being pregnant, you have no business doing this to him, Becky. It's selfish, and it's wrong. Now, get out of my house, and don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out."

Becky was mad now. No, not just mad: furious. How DARE this bitch tell Becky how Sam felt? Who the hell was Quinn, anyway? Becky had known Sam a lot longer than she had. When Sam had needed comforting, he had come to Becky, not Quinn. "Stay away from Sam," Becky hissed. "I'm telling you for the last time."

"You're nuts," Quinn said, laughing harshly. "Certifiable. After what you and Sam did to me, you deserve each other. But, because it's the right thing to do, as soon as you leave, I'm going to call him, and warn him about you. He needs to know what a little liar you are. I don't believe for a second that you're pregnant. I think you saw on some soap opera that you could tell him you were, and that he'd want to do the right thing, and propose. So then you'd start eating and pad your stomach, and then, when the time came, you would get a baby from somewhere and pass it off as his. Am I in the ballpark, Becky? You know, I should almost get back together with him, just to keep him away from you! Now, I'm going to say this just one more time: get out, or I'll throw you out, myself."

And that was when Becky took the steak knife out of her purse.

Cas was cuddling Gail, trying his best to enjoy the moment, as she had said. But as they floated down the canal and Paco began to sing "O Sole Mio" in a soft and surprisingly lilting voice, Cas's mind was troubled. How long could they continue blithely along, building their house of cards, until the entire thing collapsed? And which card was going to be the one to do it?

Jody had an aggressive brain tumour, which by all accounts was probably going to kill her in about a year or so. One year. Unless there was a miracle. Cas knew that miracles weren't unheard of, of course, but he also knew that God the Father didn't just hand those out like pieces of candy, either. And how long had it been since God had even been seen, or heard from?

Maybe Cas should just tell his family about the things that had been bothering him. Because there were a great many things, and they had been building up over time.

Time. There was that word again. Cas had thought that he was "dealing", as Sam and Dean might put it. Yes, there was the situation with Jody, but Cas had every reason to believe that that would sort itself out, in due time. He hoped that she would last much longer than her prognosis would suggest for her human family's sake, but if she did not, he saw no reason why someone of her character should not ascend immediately. But he'd said nothing about that, because Cas intuited that no one in their family was presently ready to hear it. Also, as Cas had advised Jody before her mastectomy, he couldn't be certain, because he wasn't privy to those kinds of decisions.

No, it wasn't Jody. And it wasn't even Azazel, although that whole thing had lain like a two-ton weight on Cas's shoulders for aeons now. But he had been telling the truth when he'd told Gail that he had made his peace with that. Well, mostly, anyway. And, at least he had his darling Gail to confide in about that particular burden, if he felt the need.

There were more storeys on his house of cards, though; things that Cas had never intended to talk to anyone about. How he wished that time travel was as lighthearted as the musical play that he and Gail had seen had represented it to be. But, there were aspects of it that were very dark and punishing, too. No one knew that better than Castiel. It had taken an innocent question on the part of someone who had no firsthand knowledge of such things to trigger the old feelings. But now, they had returned with a vengeance.

And he still might have been able to handle all of those things, had it not been for the others. Bit by bit, playing card by playing card, until his house was so tall that it was on the verge of collapse. And the piece de resistance, the awful cherry on the top, was the ever-increasing realization that what they were doing here was ultimately going to be of very little use to them. Of course they should obtain the Books and lock them away safely, where no one who had evil intent could ever get to them. Most likely, the Books should be stored in the annex to the weapons room, in Heaven. Ever since Cas had installed the alarm system there, when he himself had held the High Office, it was the most secure location he could think of, even more so than the bunker. He would discuss that with Bobby when the time came.

But, the Books weren't the issue; it was the vanquishing of their enemies that Cas was concerned with, most of all. Even though killing Ammit had backfired on him in spectacular fashion, Cas did not regret having done so, not one bit. There was nothing that even came close to the relief that he felt when a lethal threat was eliminated. But they hadn't had an opportunity to celebrate Lucifer's demise because their hearts had been so heavy about Dean's, and it had been the same way this time. Ammit's death had been significant, but they could not rejoice when her existence had ended, because of the devastating news about Jody. Was that Death's peculiar bookkeeeping system at play, perhaps? One from the Bad side of things gone demanded the life of one of the Good?

Then, if that was the case, who would they lose when Castiel found and killed Raguel? True, he didn't have the jawbone any more, but Cas wasn't going to let that stop him. Leah had said that finding Gabriel's blade should be a priority, and Castiel agreed with her. Rob's vision could be just the breakthrough they'd needed on that score. Once they returned from this mission and gave everything they'd gathered here to Kevin and Emma to work on, Cas was going to have Sam do some research on paddlewheeel boats, and the Mississippi River. The only thing that Cas didn't know was whether or not Gabriel's blade would be enough to kill a being like Raguel. Leah had seemed to suggest that it would not be. But, Cas had to try. Just because Raguel hadn't been heard from in a while didn't mean that he was not a very real danger.

And then, there were Rowena, and Crowley. Like Raguel, Rowena seemed to have retreated into a corner for the time being. Was she plotting something, or simply going about her business? She had been very angry at Gail in New Orleans, because Rowena had been under the impression that Gail had set her up for capture by Crowley. Gail hadn't, of course, but Rowena hadn't given her daughter and Cas's wife a chance to explain. Rowena had taken those mysterious codices with her. Like the Books, those were other ancient documents that could potentially be game-changers. But Cas knew next to nothing about them. Where did they rank on the list?

Cas had no trouble determining the item at the top of the list, though. Until they were able to eliminate him for good, it was clearly Vincent. Crowley didn't concern Cas too much. The fairly recent assassination attempt notwithstanding, unless Crowley were to commit an overt act of aggression in retaliation, Cas was fairly indifferent to his brother's existence at the moment. It was a constant thorn in Cas's side, but he'd become used to the discomfort. No, the Adversary here was obviously Vincent. The man had no morals, and no limits. He had manipulated all of them for the sheer sport of it, and he had blown up dozens of his own progeny, in a fit of pique. Leah had said that Vincent was angry and bent on vengeance, and Cas could feel that, too. And if Gail's father had been that willing to destroy that many of his own children, what would he be willing to do to Cas's family?

The compound and its shocking and tragic immolation should have been Castiel's wake-up call. Ever since he had come to Earth and attempted to assimilate, Cas had done his level best to employ the compassionate approach to the humans' problems, whenever possible. He'd had quite a few successes with that approach, but there were also some regrets. For every reclamation, such as Paul or Aurielle, there were others that Cas had let slip through his fingers. Benoit. Dr. Roarke. Patricia, maybe. He should check up on her, when he got the chance. The last time he and Gail had seen her, it hadn't seemed as if she'd been getting any better. In fact, it could be argued that she had been worse. She didn't have her Grace any longer, of course, but Cas still wondered if she could be a danger to others, if she was still as unbalanced as she'd been when they'd been to see her last.

And the biggest elephant, the one that they were all pretending that they didn't even see, had been stomping around the grounds of that compound, clamouring for their attention. The key to Vincent's immortality lay with his children. The Voodoo Priest had been weakened and vulnerable when so many of his offspring had perished in that explosion. It was as plain to Cas as the nose on his face.

But, he had no idea how he was supposed to tell Gail that all of her brothers and sisters would have to die, if they were finally to be rid of Vincent for good. Each and every one.

Becky was advancing on Quinn now, holding the knife aloft. The psychic was backing away slowly, an incredulous look on her face.

"Put that thing away, Becky. You're not scaring me," Quinn said, unconvincingly.

"Oh, no? Then how come you look so scared?" Becky taunted her.

This was ridiculous, Quinn thought. She had four inches and about twenty-five pounds on Becky. Quinn halted. "I don't want to have to fight you," she said to the girl.

Becky shrugged. "Go ahead, if you want. Cas taught me about fifty ways to fight people twice my size. I killed a 300-pound biker guy with a nail file, once. I killed a lot of people in Africa. Demons, too. After a while, I lost count. So go ahead and fight me, if you want to. Bitch."

Becky was enjoying this now. Quinn had insulted her, and accused her of being a liar. Quinn thought that Sam loved her, not Becky. Quinn thought that she had all the power. She'd called Becky delusional, but it was Quinn who was crazy if she thought that Becky was going to let her take Sam away from her.

She lunged at Quinn with the knife, and the psychic threw her arm up defensively. A slash mark appeared there, and it started to bleed. Quinn didn't feel the pain at first, but she saw the blood. This was unbelievable. She'd better call the cops, or better still, a mental hospital. Becky was seriously crazy.

Quinn started to back away again, more quickly this time. Her cell phone was on the coffee table, in the living room. She would call 9-1-1, and then Becky would leave, so she wouldn't be arrested. Maybe Quinn would press charges, or maybe she wouldn't; she could decide when the authorities got here. Right now, she just wanted the crazy bimbo out of her house.

She backed up a couple more steps, and Becky smiled. It was a demented, creepy smile, more suited for the cover of the American Psychiatric Journal than for Chloe magazine.

And that was when Quinn tripped over the suitcase she'd left in the doorway.

The quartet had had a lot of fun at the wax museum. Gail couldn't get over the lifelike appearances of most of the figures. Many of them were singers and movie stars who were currently popular, but there were also some historical figures, and heads of state. Cas was relieved to see that, unlike the original Tussaud's, this place did not have a Chamber of Horrors. Though Sam and Dean would probably have been interested in such a display, Cas just wasn't in the mood for it.

"We can stay here tonight, if you like," he said to the others. "Tomorrow we will get the last two Utterances, and we can make another day of it here. But then, I think we should get back. We still have so much to do back home."

The Winchesters nodded. Truthfully, they hadn't thought they were going to get even this much out of him. In the last twenty-four hours, their Angel friend had pretty much gone from Party Cas to Pissy Cas, anyway. And while they knew which version they preferred, they had to admit that fun time was almost over.

Quinn landed on the floor with a bone-jarring thud. Crap! She'd completely forgotten about the damn suitcase! She pictured her mother, telling her it served her right for not picking up after herself.

But Quinn had worse problems now. Becky jumped on top of her, and she started stabbing the psychic with the steak knife. One, two, fifteen, twenty times. Who knew? Becky lost count, and soon, it ceased to matter. Quinn had only had time to scream once, and then, that had been it.

Becky had been screaming too, telling Quinn that this was all her fault, because she was trying to break Becky and Sam up. Then it just became incoherent, primal screaming, and then it became a cry of triumph. She sat straddling Quinn now, panting heavily, waiting to see if Quinn was going to put up a fight. But her perceived rival didn't move. "OK," Becky breathed. "OK."

She moved off of Quinn, still watching her, just in case. Becky elbowed her bloody hair from her face, looking down at herself. She was covered in Quinn's blood now. Yuk. It was all sticky, and warm. She reached for Quinn's neck to feel for a pulse, but Quinn had no neck left, really. It was just a bloody, pulpy mess. She picked up Quinn's arm to check the wrist. Nope. Nothing. She let the arm drop and it flopped, like a wet noodle. Becky giggled. That amused her so much that she picked up the arm and did it again.

"I guess you won't be getting your claws into Sam now, will you, you bitch?" Becky said viciously. That gave her a thrill, so then she called Quinn something worse, one of the really bad swears. It was so dirty, but it felt really liberating, too. Becky felt strong now, like a real warrior. She put a hand on her stomach, smiling. No one was going to hurt Sam or their baby, not if Becky had anything to say about it. She felt the movement. Their son approved of what she had done. She raised her knife hand to her mouth and licked Quinn's blood from her fingers, totally unaware of what she was doing. The baby moved again. He liked that, too. Suddenly, Becky was ravenous. She would have to have Vincent bring her another steak when she got home, and make this one even bloodier.

Vincent was there, of course, watching from the shadows. He approached Becky now, and he was grinning broadly. "That was fantastic, Becky," he congratulated her. "Remind me to stay on your good side." He looked down at poor Quinn's bloody, mutilated body. "Some psychic she was. She obviously didn't see THAT coming," he said sarcastically. Becky giggled again.

"Come on, Little Mother. Go get your purse, and I'll take you home," Vincent said proudly.

6 - THE WYNN - MISS MISERY

Their last day in Las Vegas started out very nicely.

Cas and Gail had lolled in bed for an extra hour than they normally might. They had spent some time with the Winchesters the night before, at the dinner table and then at the casino. They'd all gambled together for a while, and then the Angels had gone off on their own. They'd taken their customary walk up and down the Strip, and then they'd gone back to their room. Cas had kept the bottle of wine from their gondola ride on ice in their room, and he'd opened it for the both of them when they returned from their walk. They had sat on the couch drinking wine and talking softly about inconsequential things. Then Gail had asked Cas to recite the lyrics to Vivo Per Lei again, and when he was done, she had launched herself into his arms, kissing him on the mouth.

And that had been it, of course. They'd spent much of the rest of the evening kissing and making love, and Gail had joked that if this was going to be the result, they should go to Venice for their next excursion, whether there was a mission there, or not.

They called the brothers in the morning, once they were showered and dressed, and to their surprise, Sam and Dean were up and raring to go.

"We've even had breakfast, already," Sam said, "so we can get right to it, if you want."

Cas was pleased. "I'll tell you what," he said. "The Wynn is very close to here. The Utterance is in the atrium of the hotel's spa."

"What does that have to do with one of the Seven Wonders?" Sam asked curiously.

Cas was surprised again. "Do you really want to know, Sam?"

"Yeah, I do, Cas."

"The Colossus of Rhodes was a giant statue of the Greek god of the sun, Helios. The atrium is sunlit, and the Utterance is on the base of a sculpture of Buddha, a god, at the spa there."

"Oh," Sam remarked. "OK, well, do you want to meet downstairs in the lobby, then? We can walk over."

So they had done that, and when they walked into the spa, Cas had a surprise for them, this time. He looked at Gail. "I wish to get a massage. I'll take Sam with me, and after we're done and he has recorded the Utterance, we'll meet you and Dean back here. Why don't the two of you get something done, too?"

"I'll pass," Dean said quickly. He had picked up a list of the services offered now, and his eyes bugged out when he saw the prices. He nudged Gail. "Frou-frou?" he asked her. She nodded emphatically, grinning.

Cas sighed. He wanted to talk to Sam about something, just the two of them, so he needed Dean and Gail to be occupied elsewhere for a short time. "I'll pay for it, Dean. Surely you can find something on that list that appeals to you."

"Why don't you take a steam?" Sam suggested. "That'll open up your pores."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm a man, Sammy. We don't care about our pores."

"Yeah. Dean has self-respect," Gail quipped. "He's not going to open up his pores for just anybody." She and Dean high-fived smartly.

"See? Gail gets it. That's stupid. All this stuff is stupid," Dean retorted.

Gail was looking curiously at her husband now, wondering why he wanted to get rid of her and Dean. Then she shrugged, deciding it didn't really matter. Sam would either tell her directly if there was anything she needed to know, or he would tell Dean, and then Dean would tell her. But she couldn't run around being suspicious all the time. After all, Cas and Sam were friends too, weren't they?

She looked at the spa list again. "I know. Let's get mud packs on our faces," Gail said to Dean. "It's supposed to take ten years off your age."

"And that impacts YOU how?" Dean said dryly.

"Never mind; we're doing it," Gail said firmly. She kissed Cas on the cheek. "We'll meet you back here afterwards."

He circled his arm around her waist. "All right, my love. And don't worry, I'll make sure to get my massage from a man." He kissed her, and then he and Sam walked away.

Gail stared after him. Truthfully, she'd never even thought about that. But now, she was kind of glad he'd said it. A massage was just a massage when given by a professional, she knew, but still, Gail wouldn't have liked the idea of another woman touching Cas like that.

She wondered if he'd picked a massage because his vessel's muscles were tense, or if it was just the first thing he'd thought of in connection with a spa. It wouldn't particularly surprise her to discover that his muscles were tight. Cas was an intense kind of individual, who took a lot of responsibility on his shoulders. And as much as Gail would be happy to give him a loving massage, she knew nothing about how to properly knead muscles to reduce the tension in them. Of course, that shouldn't stop her from trying. Maybe she should suggest it, the next time they were in bed. He could lay on his stomach and she could straddle him, rubbing his bare back. She would branch out to his shoulders and arms, then move down and do his lower back. He would be making low, soft noises of contentment, letting her know how much he was enjoying what she was doing. Then, because she wouldn't be able to help herself, she would lean down and start kissing him, then pick one spot on him to lick, and that would be that. Yeah. It was a good thing Cas was going to get his massage from a man, all right.

"Hey, Mrs. Buzzkill, are you with me?" Dean was saying.

Gail shook herself out of her reverie. "Huh? What?"

Dean let out a frustrated breath. "I said, how about we blow off this spa thing and go for a drink, instead? I know you. You're not interested in getting a mud pack, and neither am I. Come on; let's get our day-drink on."

Gail smiled slowly. What the hell? She didn't see the harm. He was right. This whole spa thing wasn't their cup of tea. "Okie-dokie. You're on," she told him. "I'll just send Cas a message on our frequency, and - "

"No, don't do that," Dean said quickly. "I don't want him getting all bent out of shape. Besides, it'll be more fun to see him tripping all over himself to tell us how young we look, after our mud packs."

Gail couldn't help but laugh. "You're terrible."

"Yeah, I know," Dean admitted. "Now let's get the hell out of here, before somebody tries to give us a makeover."

Gail laughed again, and the two of them exited the spa.

Becky had been exhausted when she'd gotten home from Quinn's. Vincent had offered to bring her something to eat, but she'd said she just wanted to take a shower and then go to sleep. She'd taken extra-long in the shower to make sure all the blood was gone, and then Vincent had helped her into bed and tucked her in.

Then he'd kissed her tenderly on the forehead and said, "I know that you're going to start to feel bad about what happened today, at some point. But when you do, just remember that she was a threat, just like those guys in Africa were. You did what you had to do, to protect Sam and the baby."

Becky thought about that. Vincent was very smart. Truthfully, she had already started to feel bad about it. Killing Quinn had felt different than killing all of those Demons and bad guys in Africa. The year of Lucifer's death squads, Becky had simply done what she'd had to do to survive. They'd been the good guys, then. Now, she was a murderer. She'd killed a woman whose only offense had been that she had feelings for Sam. Well, geez, if that was a crime, then Becky herself should have been locked up years ago. And all that stuff that Quinn had said had just been angry words, the words of somebody who'd lost out to someone else. But Becky had gone all "Psycho" on Quinn, pretty much out of the blue. How could she have done something so horrible?

Vincent could see the guilt in Becky's face now, as he sat beside her on the bed. It was perfectly understandable, but he wasn't going to let that slide. He never felt guilty about anything himself, of course, but he knew that if left unchecked, that sort of feeling could fester and grow. Oh, no. Not on his watch. The mother of The Son wouldn't be some empty-headed, mealy-mouthed, tenderhearted cow. No. No way. Vincent much preferred the Becky he had seen at Quinn's house, taking care of business and then enjoying her little snack afterwards.

He took Becky's hand and put it on her stomach, under the covers. "The only job you have right now is to love and protect your baby, Becky. Your little son is in there, relying on you to stick up for him. Aren't you, Little Guy?" Vincent said to her stomach, and Becky giggled. She felt the baby move, and so did Vincent. The child knew his father, he thought, grinning internally. That was good. The bigger The Son grew inside Becky's belly, the more it would assert its dominance. It was doing so already.

"I'm going to leave now, to let you get some rest," Vincent told the girl. "But, I want you to keep your hand on your stomach for a while, and think about what a good job you did today. Sam would be proud of you, for protecting his son like that."

Becky gave Vincent an uncertain smile, but as he stood from the bed, her eyes were already closing. Vincent stood looking at her for another moment. Sam wouldn't be proud of Becky, of course, but Vincent was. It was too bad he couldn't wind her up, and send her after some of his enemies. But Vincent needed Becky happy, fat, and healthy, to bring his Son into the world. Any one of the really big fish would destroy her, right now.

But that was OK; Vincent could bide his time. The fun was just beginning. He waved his hand, and vanished.

"So you think Gabriel's blade was picked up from the banks of the Mississippi River?" Sam asked Cas. They were sitting in the solarium of the spa following their massages, clad in fluffy white robes. Sam had his cell phone in the pocket of his. Once the spa employee had left them alone, Sam had recorded the Utterance, and then Cas had told Sam that he wanted to talk to him.

"Yes, and a paddlewheel boat seems to be involved somehow, too," Cas mused. "I was hoping that you might be able to utilize these clues when we get back, and see if you can come up with something."

"Sure, Cas. I'll see what I can find," Sam told him. The younger Winchester was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Gail told you, didn't she?"

"Yes," Cas answered tersely.

Sam frowned. "Well, hopefully she also told you that I'm going to go see Quinn as soon as we get back, to apologize for what I've done. I'm also going to see Becky and talk to her, to make sure she's clear that there won't be anything going on between us." Sam sighed. "Go ahead, Cas. Tell me what a bad person I am."

Cas regarded him for a minute. Then he said, "I don't think you're a bad person, Sam. You just did a bad thing." Now, Cas was the one to frown. "I have no right to judge you, just as I have no idea why people have relations outside their pair-bond. I barely know Quinn, and I know next to nothing about your relationship with her. But I can only imagine how much it must have hurt her to be betrayed like that. I do know Becky, though, and I think you'll have a very difficult time convincing her that you and she don't have a relationship, especially now that you have shared the ultimate expression of love with her."

Sam winced. Cas certainly had a unique way of putting things. "It wasn't - we weren't...I was drunk," he concluded lamely. Cas just sat there, looking at him. Sam sighed heavily. "I know, I know. I messed up, big time."

"Yes, you did," Cas remarked calmly. "I wanted to talk to you about something else, though. Do you still have those files on Vincent's children?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied, a little disconcerted by the sudden change of subject.

"How comprehensive are they?" Cas asked him.

"Not very," Sam said. "Whoever compiled the information didn't really seem interested in documentation. But there are names, ages, and locations of the adoptive parents in most of the files. Why?"

Cas was thoughtful. "Is there any way of telling how many of Vincent's children are still out there? Or, of which of them died in the explosion?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I don't think we would have any way of knowing how many kids Vincent fathered in total, no. But if we sat Gail, Rob and Eric down with the files, they might be able to identify the ones who were in the compound. Gail, especially, since she probably would have encountered most of them at some point during the testing." Sam was silent for a moment, and then he said, "What's on your mind, Cas? What are you thinking? Why bring this up now?"

"We'd better get dressed," Cas said abruptly, getting to his feet. "Gail and Dean will be waiting."

Becky was sleeping now, and she was dreaming about Sam, of course. In her dream, she was big and pregnant now. She was in bed in her dream too, and Sam had just come home from a hard day's work, doing whatever it was he did. The details of the fantasy didn't really matter, anyway.

Sam sat beside her on the bed. "How are you, honey?" he asked her. No. Not "honey". That was what Vincent called her. Becky would have to work on that. What would be a likely word for Sam to use? Baby? Sweetie? Dear? None of those felt right. But for now, she wouldn't worry about it. She was telling Sam that she'd had a really tiring day. Don't get her wrong; she loved being pregnant with his baby. But everything was getting so hard, now.

"Don't worry. It'll all be over soon," Sam said, putting her hand on his stomach. When he did, the baby moved, and Sam smiled. Becky still had her hand on her stomach because she'd fallen asleep that way, so she felt it, too. What a warm, wonderful moment of family togetherness.

But then as Sam leaned down to kiss her, she noticed that there was a black smudge on his face. Probably just some dirt from that unnamed job he had. So she reached up to rub it off for him, but it didn't seem to want to come off.

She forgot about it when Sam kissed her with his tongue. Then he reached under her nightgown, between her legs. "I loved what you did for me today," Sam told her. "Quinn was a possessive, controlling bitch. I told her I loved you, but she refused to believe it. She was trying to break us up, Becky. She was going to throw herself at me when I got back from Vegas, and beg me to take her back. You did the right thing, honey." His hand started to move faster, and Becky closed her eyes. "I love you, Becky," Sam said, "and I love being your husband. Does this feel good?" It felt amazing, Becky thought, moving her hand faster. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak. Wow. This was the best dream ever.

But then Sam said, "Didn't Quinn look funny, with her mouth open like that? She looked like the world's stupidest fish."

Becky frowned, and the good feeling receded. She was glad that Quinn wouldn't be bothering them anymore, but what Sam had said was kind of mean. She was about to tell him that, but then he put his hand on top of hers on her stomach, and she laughed, instead. The baby moved as Sam said, "How did her blood taste, Becky?" But this time, instead of frowning, she laughed again. "Good!" she exclaimed. "So good!"

Then she fell into a deeper sleep, and when she woke up in the middle of the night needing to pee, Becky was bathed in sweat. She looked at herself in the mirror after she urinated. She didn't look any different. But she sure felt different. She lifted up her nightgown and looked at her stomach. It was still flat, of course. She wondered how fat she would get. She felt hungry all the time now.

She put her robe on and went downstairs to the kitchen. There was a plate with a big, bloody steak on it and a health drink sitting on the table. Becky smiled warmly. Vincent was so good to her. She sat down to eat.

Dean and Gail had talked about a number of subjects. He'd finally gotten around to telling her the story of Cas sending him and Sam back to the Old West that time, and she'd been entertained and amused by the tale.

But then, she frowned. "Ever since we got back, he's been a little different, though," Gail confided in Dean. Then she realized that she probably shouldn't be talking about this. Did she really want the Winchesters to be curious about their time in the desert? If they ever found out about Azazel, it might do irreparable damage to their relationship with Cas.

Dean merely shrugged, though. "He warned us that time travel can mess with you. He probably just feels bad about losing that jawbone. Not that there was anything he could have done about it, but you know how he gets."

Gail nodded. She figured she'd better change the subject, so she said, "Oh, well. At least things worked out OK for you. You're back in Nicole's good books again, right?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. Oh, hey, she wants us to go watch them shoot a few scenes in Vancouver, before they leave town to go on vacation. You think you can convince Mister Serious Angel Face to take a bit of time off from these missions?"

Gail gave him a half-shrug. "I don't know, Dean. He's pretty focused at the moment, and we've got all this stuff to do..."

"Nicole invited us to the Supernatural convention in Vancouver," Dean pressed on. "We'll never let you out of our sight, and if anybody shows up in a Metatron costume, we'll kill him, just on general principles."

Gail stared at him for a minute, and then she burst out laughing. That was the reaction that Dean had been hoping for. "I think Nicole would like it if we went. She seemed to be pretty keen on the idea," he continued. "Besides, you still owe me a model of Baby."

She made a face, playing along. "Well, excuuuuuse me. I was a little too busy being murdered to worry about wrapping your gift," she said dryly.

And, of course, that was the exact moment that their server had picked to come to their table and ask if they wanted another. She gave both of them a strange look, and Gail gave her a fake, toothy smile. "We're working on a screenplay."

The server shrugged. "Don't worry, this is Vegas," she told them. "That's not the weirdest thing I've ever heard here. In fact, I don't even think it's the weirdest thing I've heard this week." She looked at Dean. "Can I get you guys another one?"

"We'd better get going, so those guys don't wonder where we are," Gail said, sliding out of her side of the booth.

"We could tell them we snuck off to one of those wedding chapels," Dean said, finishing his drink. "Hey, if your husband and my ex-lover, transsexual brother are going to get married, I've gotta over my heartbreak, somehow."

The server looked at them dubiously. "OK, THAT might be the weirdest thing I've heard this week," she told them.

"Lady, you have no idea," Dean said, smirking. He looked at Gail, offering her his arm. "You ready to go, Griselda?" When they'd first sat down, Dean had told Gail that he was formally dubbing her "Griselda", in revenge for the whole "Egbert" thing.

"Lead on, Egbert," she said, taking his arm. They exited the bar, leaving a bemused cocktail server to stare after them.

"How are you this morning, Beautiful?" the courier said to Jillian.

She looked up. Jillian was the receptionist at Benoit's campaign office. He had very carefully selected her for that role. She was pleasantly attractive, and more mature than some of the others. Jillian was the first person that anyone coming to his campaign headquarters would encounter, and he wanted to project a professional, competent image. She was 28 years old, she had worked in an office environment before Vincent had rounded her up for the compound, and as an unexpected bonus, she spoke and understood rudimentary French.

Jillian had a very special and unique talent, one that had the potential to swing the entire election, if used judiciously. Benoit remained unsure if, or how, he was going to use her in that regard, but her ability intrigued him greatly. But he had asked her not to use it, for the time being. Jillian had been obedient. Part of her was a little frightened by what she could do, anyway.

But Jillian was only human, and she had a secret. A deep, dark secret she was never going to tell anybody about. Like most of Vincent's kids, she didn't know who her real parents were. Cathy Scanlon had sold her to a good Christian family in the midwest, and she had grown up on a farm. It was a pretty good life, all things considered. She and her foster brothers took a yellow schoolbus to the school on the outskirts of the town every day, and back home in the afternoon. Then they would help do farm chores for an hour or so, do their homework, and then have supper. They were allowed one hour of TV every night after that, and then there was one hour of Bible study with their parents. Then, bedtime.

Then, soon after Jillian hit puberty, there was one more component that was added to her day. A couple of times a week, her foster father would come to her room after lights out. His "affections" had been gentle at first, but gradually, they had escalated to rape. And when she had cried, begging him to stop, he would remind her that the Bible stated you were supposed to honour your father and mother. Well, a man had needs, and her mother was too worn out from working hard all day, putting food on the table for Jillian to eat. She should be grateful for that. Didn't she have a good life here?

It was confusing to Jillian, but in her young mind, she supposed he had a point. He'd promised her he would be gentle as long as she didn't struggle. He loved her, and this was his way of showing it. And she did kind of like it when he kissed her, because she could close her eyes and picture a boy in her class that she liked, and that would make it easier to get through.

The first inkling Jillian had gotten of her talent was when she had been sitting outside in the schoolyard on lunch break. She'd been sitting quietly, thinking about her secret. Most days she alternated between believing it was a burden she would just have to bear until she was old enough to leave, to feeling rage towards her father foster for being such a pervy bastard. Now she guessed she knew why they'd adopted a girl. She'd often wondered if her mother knew what her husband was doing to her foster daughter. That was unclear, but the girl was too intimidated to say anything about it to anyone. Her foster father had told her that if she ran around making wild accusations, no one would believe her, anyway. He was an upstanding, respectable member of the community. No one was going to take the word of a stray mongrel they'd taken into their home over his. And if she made trouble for him, he would just throw her back into the system. See how that worked out for her. Many foster parents starved the kids they received. Beat them. How would she like that?

Jillian had so much pent-up rage, and no idea what to do with it. Then along came Kimberley, a pert, bouncy little thing. She sat beside Jillian in the schoolyard, uninvited.

"Isn't it a beautiful day?" Kimberley chirped.

Jillian looked at her expressionlessly. Whenever her foster father got really into it, his favourite word was "beautiful".

"What's the matter?" Kimberley asked her. "You look like you could use a hug." Then she wrapped her arms around Jillian, hugging her, and Jillian snapped.

"No, it isn't a 'beautiful' day," she hissed, trying to pry Kimberley off of her. "If you felt as crappy as I do, you would hate everything, and everyone. Now, get off me!"

Kimberley pulled away from Jillian, and Jillian had expected to see the look of hurt and bewilderment on the girl's face, the one she always got when Jillian told her to go away. But this was the first time that Kimberley had made physical contact with her. Maybe she'd grown desperate in her attempts to cheer Jillian up. Kimberley was one of those people who'd apparently made it their life's mission to ensure that everyone in the world was as sunny and optimistic as they were.

But there was no expression on Kimberley's face now. Absolutely none. Then she got up without another word, and walked away. Jillian let out a breath. Thank God, she thought, not one bit sorry that she'd taken the Lord's name in vain. Maybe she'd finally gotten the message.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. Kimberley paused beside a group of students who were sitting on a blanket on the ground, laughing and talking. "Oh, hey, Kimberley," one of the girls said, looking up at her. "Want to join us?"

Kimberley looked at the girl for a moment. Then she reared back as far as she could, and slapped the girl in the face, as hard as she could. Then, for good measure, Kimberley lifted her leg and kicked her, knocking her backwards into her friends.

Then Kimberley had stalked off, as the injured girl's friends ran for a teacher and Jillian looked on, open-mouthed.

That was years ago, and Jillian hadn't realized the significance of it at the time. A part of her was sorry later that she hadn't known at the time that she was the exact opposite of an empath. Instead of taking on others' feelings and emotions, Jillian was able to inject her own feelings into another person, merely by touch. And, because all she'd felt was negativity around the time that her talent began to manifest itself, the feelings that Jillian installed were feelings of hate.

"I'm fine, but don't call me 'beautiful'," Jillian said to the courier now, through gritted teeth.

"But you ARE beautiful," the young man insisted. He put the box down on the reception desk. "Can you sign here, please?" He offered her the clipboard and pen.

"Certainement," Jillian said. Her professional smile had returned. She took the items from his hands, making sure their hands touched. She signed, then watched him exit the office, still smiling.

Marcel took the elevator down and got into his truck. He'd better hurry; he still had lots of deliveries to make today. But when he drove to the crosswalk, there was a family of immigrants crossing in front of him. He let out a frustrated breath. It was bad enough that these people came to his country and took French jobs, but now, they were also preventing him from doing his. They were going that slow on purpose, he was sure. Incredibly, the woman looked up at him and smiled. At least, he thought she was smiling. With those things they wore on their faces, it was hard to tell.

He stepped on the gas pedal.

Gail couldn't believe this place was called Dream Lake, because for her, it was turning out to be a nightmare.

When they'd all reunited back at the spa, she and Dean had been wide-eyed and innocent when they'd sworn that they had really enjoyed their mud packs. Then they had acted offended when neither Sam nor Cas thought they looked any younger.

Cas had sniffed the air. "Why do I smell alcohol?" he had asked them suspiciously.

"It must be the astringent they used in the formula," Gail had said glibly.

Dean had smirked, impressed. "Nice one, Griselda," he'd remarked. "Good cover."

Gail shook her head slowly, rolling her eyes. "You know, the first rule of deception is not to admit that you're perpetrating a deception," she lectured him.

"What'd you say? I've got mud in my ears," he had wisecracked.

Cas had smiled patiently. "All right. Well, since the two of you have had your fun, I will put it to Sam: what would YOU like to do next?" he asked the younger Winchester.

Sam was caught off-guard. "Well, if you really want to know...I'd kind of like to go golfing. The Wynn's supposed to have one of the premier courses in Las Vegas. Dream Lake."

Dean did a double-take. Golfing? Since when? But he thought about it for a minute. "You know what? What the hell? I'm in," he said. "I'm great at mini-golf, so..."

Sam saw no need to point out to his brother that those were two totally different things. Dean had acquiesced very easily, and Sam didn't want to give him an excuse to change his mind.

"What do you think, my love?" Cas asked Gail.

She shrugged. "Why not? Never Have I Ever golfed."

Cas smiled, pleased. He had never done it, either. It would be exciting for the both of them to try something that neither of them had ever attempted before.

So they were golfing at Dream Lake now, and Sam was a natural. He had a keen eye for angles and distance, and those long arms. Dean had also turned out to be quite talented. While he tended to over-muscle most of his swings, Dean was a dead shot, so he was very accurate when aiming for the flag.

Cas had a good eye, too, but he continually hit the ball too hard. His ball ended up on the green, all right; the green that was two holes beyond where they were playing. Either that, or he would try to ease up, and then his ball would end up in the woods.

"You're shanking it, Cas," Sam would tell him, and the Angel would frown. His ball went into the woods again, and he sighed. Cas came out holding it a couple of minutes later, sighing again. "I suppose I'll have to practice more," he told the others. "But, on the bright side, I saw some hatchlings being born, when I climbed into the tree to retrieve my ball." Gail and the brothers looked at each other, smiling. Only Cas could find a silver lining to shanking his golf ball into the woods.

Once they got to the green, though, Cas was very good at using the finesse needed to putt the ball into the hole. That seemed to be the only thing that Gail could sometimes succeed at, too. Maybe she'd better stick to mini-golf, she told herself. She could get Dean to teach her, if he was as good as he said he was.

Because no matter what Gail tried, she couldn't seem to get her ball to travel any distance at all. They'd told her she could hit from what were called the "ladies' tees", which were further ahead than the mens. Great. She was all for Womens' Lib, but she needed all the help she could get. She would watch the men when they got up to shoot. They would stand there after putting the ball on the little plastic tee, line up their shot, and hit the ball far off into the distance, so far that she lost track of it. It looked so easy. So she would move forward to the ladies' tee, which wasn't really that much ahead of theirs, she'd thought with a frown, and try to emulate them. She would put the ball on the tee, line up her shot, give it a mighty swing, and...

"Where did it go?" Gail asked the men, who had hung back, waiting for her. She looked off into the distance.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh...look down, Griselda."

Gail looked to where he was pointing, and there was her ball, sitting a couple of inches from the tee. "Oh, come on!" she exclaimed.

"Try it again," Cas encouraged her. "I'm sure it's just a matter of practice."

Gail sighed. She teed up her ball again, swung at it, and got the same result.

"You're taking your eye off the ball," Sam said helpfully. "Try bending your knees a little."

"Relax your grip more," Dean told her. "And keep your back straight."

"Concentrate on the ball. Oh, and tuck your elbows in," Sam added.

Gail was exasperated now. "What am I, a woman, or a pretzel?" she exclaimed. They had to be kidding her with this. She glared at them, and then at Cas. "Have YOU got any helpful advice?"

"I love you," he said quickly.

Gail smiled slowly, and then she laughed. She couldn't help it. "Good answer," she said. Then she looked at the ball again, trying to use all the advice they'd given her. But there were too many things to remember, and her body felt weird when she tried to do all those things at the same time. Finally, she swung, and hit the ball down the fairway a few yards.

"There you go, my darling," Cas encouraged her. "That was a good shot."

She joined them on the path, where their golf carts were parked. "Just out of curiosity, which tip helped you the best?" Sam asked her.

"None of them," she answered honestly. "I just closed my eyes, and hoped for the best."

"There you go. There's the bumper sticker for our next election," Sam quipped.

But that had turned out to be a fluke. As they played on, Gail continued to struggle. She just couldn't seem to make very good contact with the ball, no matter what she did.

Cas felt badly for his wife. He could see how hard she was trying. Sam and Dean were going fairly easy on her as far as the teasing went, but Cas could tell that Gail's self-esteem was taking a bit of a beating now. He knew that she was wondering why something that seemed so easy for all three of her companions was so difficult for her. He wished he had an answer for her, but the simple truth was that that was just the way things were, sometimes.

Still, Cas didn't want to see his darling Gail struggle this much, either. So the next time she hit the ball, Cas wiggled his finger, and it went a few feet further. Then, the next time she hit it, Cas waved his hand as if warding off an insect, and the ball landed on the green.

Gail's mouth dropped open. "Did you see that?" she said to the men. She practically skipped over to where they were standing, waiting patiently for her as usual. "Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of it!" she added excitedly.

Dean looked at Cas, and his Angel friend looked back at him with an innocent expression. "Yes, Dean?" Cas said.

"You know what," Dean replied. "I haven't seen something so obvious since Sammy tried switching the butter in the fridge to low-fat margarine."

Gail was looking up at Cas now. "Was that you?" she asked him.

He looked sheepish. "I just don't like to see you struggle."

Then, somewhat surprisingly, Gail laughed. She stretched up and kissed her husband on the cheek. Then she looked at Dean. "I wish you hadn't busted him so soon," she said. "Now I'll have to think up a new way to cheat." She sighed. "You know, I should just pick up the stupid ball and throw it. It'd probably go further," she grumbled.

While Dean debated the relative wisdom of pointing out that she threw like a girl, Cas said, "I'll tell you what. Why don't I try to help you in a different way? Here: let me show you how I do it. Maybe it'll help you."

Gail shrugged. "Hey, it may not help, but it couldn't hurt."

"Come here." Cas led her out to the grass. "Show me how you stand," he said to his wife.

She demonstrated, and he moved behind her, putting his arms around her. His hands covered hers on the club. "Now, bend your knees a little," he said, scooching down and bending his own, behind hers. "Now, loosen your arms." He moved his hands up and down her arms, then put his arms around her waist. "And, I find it helps if you rotate your hips." He put his hands on her hips and moved them gently.

"Do that again," Gail said, smiling. "Then, put your arms around me again."

Cas did, and then he leaned down and spoke into her ear. "Do you think this will help you with your swing?"

"Oh, it's helping, all right," she said mischievously. She dropped her golf club on the grass and turned around, kissing him on the lips. Cas smiled, returning her kiss.

"Aw, geez," Dean groaned. "Come on, you guys! We're trying to have fun, here!"

"This is the first time I've had fun here all morning," Gail told him.

Dean let out a breath. "Come on, Sammy. Let's go find our balls." He slung his golf bag onto the cart as Gail burst out laughing. "Yeah, yeah, I know how that came out," Dean called out, driving away. "Shut up, Griselda."

"Up yours, Egbert!" she called gleefully after him. "Let me know if you find them!" Dean rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. The Angels were a pain in his ass sometimes, but he couldn't deny that everything was a lot more fun when they were around.

And of course, because they were Angels, the two of them were already at the next hole when Sam and Dean got there. Gail was grinning. "Mark me down for twenty-four strokes," she said to Sam, who was writing down his and Dean's numbers on the scorecard with the little pencil in his big hand. She laughed. It looked so tiny in his hands. "That's probably at least as many as it would have taken me, had I actually played the hole," she joked.

"Do you want to just pack it in?" Sam asked her.

"Hell, no!" she said pertly. "I'm no quitter. 'And yet, she persisted'. Right?"

Sam smiled. "Okay. We'll keep going, then. If it's any consolation, we're near the end of the course."

"Okie-dokie," Gail said agreeably, and as she turned away, she looked skyward and mouthed, "Thank God." Cas saw that, and he smiled. Gail was so sweet for not wanting to spoil Sam and Dean's fun.

Since they were nearing the end of the course now, the last few holes were proving to be more challenging. Perhaps the people who had designed the course had reasoned that the people who were playing it were becoming more practiced as they approached the end, and needed more of a challenge, as a result. But that also meant that there was an even higher degree of difficulty.

Gail had goofed around for the last few holes, but now that they were nearing the end, she wanted to give the game one more good, honest effort. Unfortunately, she had found herself in a difficult position. Her ball was downhill of the green now, so far down that she couldn't even see that far up.

"Why don't you just toss your ball up there, and then you can putt with the rest of us," Sam offered kindly, but Gail shook her head.

"No, Sam. I want to try it," she insisted. "Just let me try it once, and if I can't do it, I'll just bring the ball up there. Okay?"

He nodded. Hey, if she wanted to try it, they should give her the chance. He admired her determination.

"I'll stay here with you, my love," Cas told his wife. "We'll see you up on the green in a moment."

Dean looked at him suspiciously, but Cas shook his head. "No funny business. I promise."

The brothers went up the hill to the green, and Cas looked at Gail. "Do the best you can, my love. I believe in you."

That was sweet, but it also made her want to make a good shot, as much for him as for herself. So she chipped the ball, and it flew up and over the hill.

"Great shot!" she heard Sam call out, but then he said, "Ohh."

Aw, geez, Gail thought. NOW what? She took Cas's extended hand, and they walked up the hill. "Where did it go?" Gail asked the brothers, and they pointed to the sand trap beside the green.

"It popped up here, and you had a great lie. But then it kept going, and going, and then it rolled into the sand trap," Sam told her.

This was unbelievable. The only decent shot she'd made all day, and it was sitting there, nestled in the sand. Gail stalked over there, and glared down at the stupid thing. This was the last straw. The final insult. She pointed her finger at the golf ball and the golden beam came out of her hand, lighting it on fire. It burned for a minute or so, and then, the sand doused the flame.

"Oops," Gail said dryly. "I appear to have misplaced my golf ball." Then she sighed. "You know, I get those stories, now. The ones where people wrap their golf clubs around trees, in sheer frustration."

"Do you want to try it again, my love?" Cas asked her, trying not to show his amusement.

"No. I give up," she said, cheerfully enough. "There are only a couple of holes left to go, right, Sam?" The younger Winchester nodded, and she said, "You guys go ahead and finish. I hope you at least have a bet on the outcome. Then if Cas wins, I'll still benefit."

The men smiled as they drove on to the next hole. But as Sam teed off, a very peculiar thing happened. He drove the ball hard, and it was a tremendous shot. But suddenly, a crow flew directly into the path of the ball, and there was a loud "thwacking" sound. The crow and the golf ball fell to the ground simultaneously.

"Holy crap," Dean breathed. He hopped into one of the golf carts and drove down to where the crow was as the others stood there, stunned.

"Dead," Dean called out when he reached the bird.

"Are you sure?" Sam exclaimed. "Maybe it's just stunned."

"Nope," Dean said, grinning. "Way to go, Dead-Eye."

Sam sighed. He'd been the last of the men to tee off, so the three of them got in Cas and Gail's golf cart, with Gail perched on Cas's lap and went down to where Dean stood.

Sam frowned down at the bird. It was dead, all right. Wow. That had been weird.

Predictably enough, Dean was finding the situation hilarious. "Where's the flag, Sammy? About 250 feet that way. If you win the game, I hope you're not gonna crow about it!" He elbowed Gail. "You want in on this?"

Ordinarily, she would have jumped at the chance, but Gail didn't have the heart at the moment. She could tell that Sam felt bad about what he'd done, accidental as it might have been.

Suddenly, a flock of crows appeared overhead, circling and cawing loudly. "Okay, THAT'S not ominous, at all," she quipped nervously.

"We'd better get the flock out of here, before they go all Alfred Hitchcock on us," Dean said, still smirking. He looked at Gail. "Remember, I gave you the chance. You snooze, you lose." He paused. "Are you embarrassed, Sammy? Do you feel like eating crow, maybe?" Dean persisted. "We'd better get going, before the whole family decides to go on the attack."

"Murders of crows are actually very close-knit," Cas remarked. Sam looked at him, startled, until he remembered that that was what groups of crows were actually called. Murders. How strange was that? "They are probably mourning the loss of one of their own."

"Cas, you're not helping," Sam said, frowning more deeply.

"Let's go have a drink," Gail piped up. "I think the hotel is about a mile away, as the crow flies." Dean laughed. "Up top," he said, and they high-fived. Gail looked up at Sam apologetically. She hadn't been able to help herself, after all.

"Et tu, Gail?" Sam said to her. But he fully understood why she'd done it. If the situation was reversed, he probably would have said exactly the same thing.

"There's no need to speak Latin, Sam. We're not at Caesar's Palace anymore," she said pertly. She was on a roll now. Quips were like potato chips; it was hard to restrict yourself to just one.

"'Et tu'? I think you mean 'F.U.!'" Dean said to his brother delightedly. "She's pretty mean when she gets going, isn't she?"

"All right, Egbert, settle down," Gail said, rolling her eyes at him. "You know, I could just point to the sky and have those guys dive-bomb you, right now. That would get you back for laughing at me that time we went horseback riding, wouldn't it?"

"Oh, so THAT'S it," Dean said, throwing his hands up. "Boy, can you ever hold a grudge."

"That's OK; Cas wouldn't let that happen," Sam stated confidently. "He'd just tell them to stand down."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Cas said with faint amusement. "As I believe my brother-in-law once said, I know which side my bread is buttered on." He took Gail's hand, and the Angels smiled warmly at each other.

But the mention of Frank and the group of crows flying overhead cast a bit of a pall over the group now. So they loaded the golf bags onto the carts without further comment, and then they headed back to the clubhouse.

Ever since they'd found out about Jody's condition, the guilt had been eating away at Eric. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. So he'd told the family that he wanted to visit Alice, his mother by adoption. They hadn't been on the best of terms when he'd left home, and then, he had just showed up on her doorstep with Frank and announced that he was blowing town to go live with Rob and his family. Now, he'd felt like he'd like to spend a few days with her, and he felt like he owed it to her to try to forge a better relationship with her, going forward.

"Road trip?" Eric asked his brother, but Rob was reluctant to leave his own mother. Jody had frowned. "See, this is what I was talking about," she'd said impatiently. "You have to live your life, Rob. If you want to go, then you should go. Don't worry, I'm not going to drop dead in the next few days. I promise."

So Rob and Eric had thrown some things in the car and driven down to Florida. Eric hadn't even called, first. His mom never went anywhere. "We'll hang out for a couple of days," he'd told Rob. "Then we'll give Nuke a call and go out partying, before we leave. He e-mailed me his number and where he's staying now. He's still kind of underground, but he was glad we were coming. He's looking forward to meeting you. He still remembers how funny your dad was."

They knocked on the door of Alice's house, waiting for her to answer. After a moment, she came to the door, peering out of the curtains at the side window.

"Come on, Mom, open up," Eric said, bemused. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten what I look like, already. Rob and I have been on the road for a while now. He really needs to pee."

Rob punched his brother on the arm. "Eric!" he exclaimed. "Shut up!" He had never met Eric's mom before, and he wanted to make a good impression.

Rob? Rob! Alice opened the door and stood there staring at the young men. Eric moved forward, giving her a hug. "How are you, Mom? It's good to see you," he told her.

She returned his hug, then broke the embrace. "This is Rob? Your brother?" Alice asked Eric.

"It's very nice to meet you," Rob said pleasantly, extending his hand to Alice. She took it, giving it a perfunctory shake. But she was thoroughly disconcerted now. It had been a big enough surprise to find Eric at her door. The fact that he was here with another one of Vincent's bastards had completely thrown her for a loop.

"Who else knows you're here?" she blurted out.

Eric's smile faded. "We told Frank and Jody we were coming to see you," he replied. That had been kind of a weird question to ask.

Rob was getting a really creepy vibe from Eric's mom now. She was looking at the two of them funny, almost as if...what? He couldn't quite figure it out.

"I didn't expect you to come," Alice said to Eric. "And I certainly didn't expect the two of you, at once."

The brothers exchanged glances. "I'll tell you what," Rob said after a moment, breaking the uncomfortable silence. "You two probably want to be alone for a while, to catch up. Why don't I go into town for a couple of hours? I'll do a bit of sightseeing, or grab a bite. You can text me when you think I should come back." He looked at Eric. "OK?"

"That's an excellent idea," Alice said quickly. "I'd like to talk to my son alone."

"Okay, I'll see you in a while," Rob said. "He went back out onto the porch, and Alice closed the door behind him.

"That was pretty rude, Mom," Eric said, frowning. "If you're mad at me, fine, but don't take it out on him."

Alice sighed. "You might as well come into the kitchen, then. I could make a pot of coffee. Or do you drink beer, now?"

"Coffee'll be fine, Mom," Eric said, bemused. She had her back to him as they walked to the kitchen, but he could hear the note of disapproval in her voice when she'd said the word "beer". She'd probably have a cow if she saw all the drinking that went on where he lived now.

Alice put the coffee on, then sliced up some banana bread she'd made yesterday. Now that it was October, the weather was getting a little cooler, so she was able to bake again. Domestic chores relaxed her. When Alice got back from one of her excursions, she needed the break.

She looked at her son. He seemed happier now; more at peace with himself. That new family of his must be treating him well. His brother Rob was a tall, strapping young man, a little more like their father than Eric was. Eric must have gotten his looks more from his mother's side, whoever that little tramp had been.

Vincent. That bastard. Alice hated that man with every fibre of her being. In fact, she had made it her life's mission to rid the earth of him, once and for all.

VIGNETTE - AN AXE TO GRIND

Alice had been okay about it before Roger had died. She and her husband had adjusted to the circumstances of their life together fairly easily, or so she'd thought.

She'd loved her husband with all her heart, and he'd loved her the same. They had each other and they had their faith, and for a while, that had been enough. But Alice had wanted a child, and even though Roger had tried to give her one, it just hadn't been in the cards. Alice had grown despondent after a couple of years of trying, and it had broken Roger's heart to see her that way. So he'd come home one day and told her that a friend of a friend had the address and phone number of a woman in Colorado who specialized in helping couples with fertility issues. Alice had been skeptical; hopefully this didn't involve some kind of pagan mumbo-jumbo, she'd said. Roger had agreed, but he had also said that they should go, and just check it out. If the Scanlon woman was into anything like that, they would simply have nothing to do with her.

Roger was so kind and loving, Alice reminisced. Despite everything that had followed, she had been fine, right up until her husband had died. Then, everything had changed. Alice changed. She became a crazy person, intent on avenging her husband's death.

Roger didn't die of a heart attack. That was just what Alice had told Eric and their families, because she could hardly have told them the truth. How could Alice have stood there and told her religious, Christian family that her husband had died as the result of a voodoo curse?

The couple had ended up adopting Eric through Cathy Scanlon, and everything had been blissfully happy for a while. Alice had been in love with their sweet baby son, and Roger had been in love with the both of them.

But then had come the realization that something was very wrong. Something very strange was going on with Eric, Roger had said to Alice.

"You know it, I know it, and I'm pretty sure Cathy Scanlon knows it, too," he had fumed. "Now I know why she gave him to us so cheap. He's defective."

"Quiet, Roger, he'll hear you!" Alice had exclaimed, agitated.

"He's just a little kid," Roger had argued. Then, he made a decision. "Get him dressed. I'll book a flight. We're going back to that office, and we're going to demand some answers."

And Alice had obeyed, partly because the Good Book said that wives were supposed to, but mainly because she'd realized with a sinking feeling that they'd better get some answers about what was going on with Eric. How she wished now that she had refused. Or would Roger have just gone there, anyway?

In any event, they'd flown back to Colorado immediately. Cathy Scanlon had been shocked to see them. She'd never had a family come back, before. Didn't they love their beautiful new baby?

"Of course we love Eric," Roger had said sharply. "But there's something very strange that's going on with him, and I think you know what I'm talking about. We're not leaving here until you tell us the truth."

Cathy had opened her mouth to say that she had no idea what Roger was talking about, but then, Vincent had come through to the front office from the back. He'd been bringing Cathy another kid to unload when the couple had shown up, unannounced. He'd instructed Cathy to get rid of them, but she wasn't doing a very good job. He could hear the squawking from all the way in the back. So he'd put the baby in the bassinet Cathy had kept in the back ever since Christina had adopted Gail and they hadn't had anything to put the little girl in, and he'd come out to the front office.

"What the hell is going on out here?" Vincent asked the group, as if he didn't know.

"Who are YOU?" Roger said insolently.

"I'm Cathy's business partner, and we have a 'no return' policy," Vincent told the man.

"We don't want to return him, we just want to know what's going on with our son," Alice said pleadingly. "I put him on the changing table, turned my back for just one second to get him a new diaper, and suddenly he was back in his crib. Then, the other night, he appeared in our bed, after I'd put him down in his crib for the night."

Vincent grinned. That was excellent. He knew who Baby Eric was, of course. He was one-half of twin boys that Vincent had fathered with some woman whose name he could no longer remember. That was when he'd been in his experimental phase. He'd wanted to see what would happen if he abstained for a while and then put everything he had into it, so to speak. The result had been twins, and Vincent had had Cathy red-flag the files so that he could keep track for a few years, to see if they had any special abilities. Baby Robbie had thus far been unremarkable, but Baby Eric was impressing Vincent now. "So?" he said callously. "What do you want us to do about it? If it freaks you out so much, chain him up."

Roger was livid. "Either you're going to tell me what's going on with our son, or I'm going to the authorities."

"Is that right?" Vincent said, amused. "And what are you guys going to tell them? That the kid you bought, which is illegal, by the way, is defective?" Alice looked at him, startled. That had been the same word Roger had used with regard to Eric, back home in Florida. Vincent went on, "Maybe they'll put you two in jail, and take the kid away. Wouldn't that be terrific?"

"Let's go," Alice had said to her husband. "We're not going to get anywhere with these types of people."

"What do you mean, 'these types of people'?" Vincent said angrily. "Who are you to talk about me like that? Just because you kowtow to some Christian God, you think you're better than me? You knew what you were doing when you left here with that baby."

Roger approached Vincent, staring him down. "Don't talk to my wife that way."

"I'll talk to her any damn way I want," Vincent retorted. "Look, Roger." Now it was Roger's turn to be startled. How did this man know his name? Vincent was exercising restraint now, which was rare for him. He put a hand up, attempting to calm the couple. "You have a beautiful little family here. Everything you've ever wanted. So why don't you just cash out and go home? Live your happy little lily-white Christian lives. Just do me a favour, and don't baptize the kid. Talk about your pagan rituals."

That enraged Roger, who got even closer to Vincent, close enough so that he could see the man's pupils dilating as he said, "Of course we're going to baptize him! Maybe that'll make him normal, again."

"Don't you worry about him being 'normal'," Vincent sneered. He touched Roger's chest. "I would worry about your own health, if I were you. You're not feeling very well, are you?"

"What are you talking about?" Roger said, mystified. "I'm perfectly fine."

"No, you're not," Vincent said cheerfully. "In fact, your heart's getting weaker, as we speak. Better do some items on your bucket list there, Big Guy. But don't worry; it won't happen for a while. It'll be more heartbreaking if Eric gets to know you and look up to you, first. Still, I'd cut down on my cholesterol, if I were you. Otherwise, you're just helping me out."

Vincent took his hand away from Roger's chest, but Eric's adoptive father could feel a heavy sensation there, one that he hadn't felt before. "What did you just do to me?" he asked Vincent in a hushed voice.

"Not to worry," Vincent said casually. "Just some pagan mumbo-jumbo. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. You don't believe in my religion anyway, right? Why are you shaking, Roger?"

Roger was shaking now, and he could feel his heart fluttering in his chest. There was heart disease in his family, but Roger was still a young man. When he got his checkup every year, he always passed with flying colours. No, this was purely psychosomatic.

"You're right. I DON'T believe you did anything to me. You're just trying to intimidate me," Roger said, standing up straighter.

"Good. Fine. Then, you're probably right, Rog. I'm probably full of shit," Vincent said jovially. Alice moved her hands to cover Baby Eric's ears, and Vincent threw his head back and laughed. "You Bible-thumpers are hilarious," he said, wiping tears of amusement from his eyes. "Have you ever READ that Book you make love to every day? There's so much sex and violence in there, it should be rated Triple X. And you're worried about a little four-letter word? Well, here's a five-letter word for you, then: scram." He looked at Roger. "Now, go home and keep that bacon-eating, beer-swilling yap of yours shut." As Alice gasped, Vincent smirked at her. "Yeah, I know your husband drinks beer, and I also know that you lie to your family about it. Hypocrite much?"

So the couple had fled Cathy's office with Eric, and there had been no further discussion on the subject. There had only been a few more incidences of teleportation by Baby Eric and then, just as abruptly, they'd stopped. Alice had pushed the entire ugly incident out of her mind and gone back to being blissfully happy. And Roger had gone back to eating the fried foods he loved, and drinking his beer on the weekends. He and Alice knew her family wouldn't approve, but frankly, he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, those old biddies took their religion much too far, sometimes.

Eric had grown up to be a curious but well-behaved child, who did well in school, made friends easily, and never teleported anywhere.

Things were going so well, in fact, that Roger had sat Alice down one night, taking her hands in his. "I think it's time we told Eric," he'd said to his wife, and her forehead wrinkled.

"What do you mean?" she'd said. "He already knows he's adopted."

"No, Alice. I think we need to tell him the full story," Roger had said, frowning. "He'll be a young man soon. I just think he has a right to know."

But before she'd had the chance to respond, Alice noticed with horror that her husband's face had turned an ashen white, and he clutched at his chest.

"I may not have much time, so listen carefully," Roger said to his wife in a choked voice. "I was determined to keep you and Eric safe from that bastard, so..." His voice dried up, but he cleared his throat and made himself continue. "I told you I was going on a business trip so you wouldn't worry, but I flew back to that office and I demanded to see Vincent. I told him that we had a right to know what was going on with our kid. So, he told me."

Roger coughed, and bubbles of blood came out of his mouth. Alice was scared now. "I need to call 9-1-1," she said, but he gripped her hands tighter. "No, Alice. I have to tell you what he said. He told me that HE was Eric's father."

"WHAT?!" Alice exclaimed, but Roger let go of one of her hands so that he could touch a finger to her lips.

"Shhhh," her husband said. "We don't want to wake Eric." He clutched his chest and coughed again. "Vincent has fathered dozens of children, and they all have special...talents, like Eric did when he was a baby. He still might; maybe he just chooses not to do it. I don't know. But this guy Vincent told me that as long as any of his children remain alive, so will he."

"How can that be?" Alice had said, astonished. "That doesn't even make sense! That sounds like something in one of those pagan witchcraft books that my church burned."

"I know, I know. It sounds crazy," Roger agreed, "but I believe it anyway, because that bastard cursed me when he touched me that day, and now I'm going to die. I'm sorry, Alice. I tried to do the right thing, but I messed up. I love you." He slumped to the floor, and Alice had screamed out loud.

Then, Eric did come running downstairs, and he fell to his knees at his father's side. He looked up at his mother, who was standing over her husband, motionless with panic.

"Call an ambulance!" Eric had shouted, and Alice's paralysis broke. She'd run to the phone as Eric was tearing his dad's shirt open. They had actually started teaching CPR in his health class, so Eric figured he had nothing to lose by giving it a try while they waited for the professionals to get there.

But it had already been too late. Roger had been dead before the paramedics had even loaded him into the ambulance. And from that day on, Alice's life had changed forever.

She sat down across from Eric at the kitchen table after putting his coffee mug and a plate in front of him. He'd already dug in to the banana bread.

"Use the plate," she chided her son. "You're getting crumbs all over the place."

Eric grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Mom." He put the remnants of the piece he'd been eating on the plate she'd given him.

There was silence between them for a moment, and then Alice said, "Why are you here, Eric?"

"Do I need a reason to visit my own mother?" he countered.

Alice sighed. "We didn't exactly part on good terms."

But that had been by design, of course. Following her beloved husband's death, Alice had made it her life's mission to eliminate Vincent. Whatever it took, she was willing to do. He had taken Roger away from her, for absolutely no reason. Well, then, she was going to take everything away from him.

At first, she had taken her time, doing the necessary research. When Eric was at school, Alice would take the bus to the local library. She would look at every book on magic and dark magic that she could get her hands on, books that would make her religious family run screaming in terror. But, she no longer cared. She had to know.

Then Alice had visited a few local practitioners of the occult, asking them about voodoo. Was it possible to kill someone just by touching their chest and putting a curse on them? Yes, of course it was, if that person knew what they were doing. How about immortality? Now, THAT, they'd never heard of, they told her.

Alice had been at a loss as to what to do next. Should she just assume that Vincent had told Roger the truth, even though none of the reference books she'd read and none of the professionals she'd seen could confirm that such a thing was even possible?

The last woman Alice talked to was a practitioner of Santeria, not voodoo, but she'd told Eric's mother that if such information was that important to her, she should go see Nana Sawyer. Nana was a robust woman of indeterminate age who practiced voodoo. Rumour had it that she was over 100 years old, and that her spells kept her young. If anyone would know about that kind of thing, it would be her.

So Alice had gone to see the woman, and she had been astounded. Nana Sawyer claimed to be 120 years old, and even though Alice wasn't sure if she believed that, the woman had looked at her calmly and stated that not only was such a thing possible, but she knew of a voodoo cult that was currently putting the theory into practice. The head of the "family" was Papa Legba, and legend had it that he was thousands of years old. At last report, he had dozens of children, and fathering them was what had prolonged his life.

"But if you are determined to pursue this matter, tread lightly, my child," the old woman had said grimly. "Papa is no one to trifle with."

"I don't want anything to do with him, or his cult," Alice had said nervously. "I only want to know if this man Vincent is a member."

Nana Sawyer had made a squeaking sound, and then she had pointed to the door of her little apartment with one bony finger. "Get out."

"But - " Alice had started to say.

"Get out!" Nana had shouted in a quavering voice. "Vincent IS Papa Legba! Now, leave my house. I don't want any trouble."

Alice had gone home after that, and her head had been reeling. It was true, then. Every word of it. Vincent, aka Papa Legba, was immortal. And the only way to ensure that he didn't get the chance to live on and on would be to kill each and every one of his children.

Eric was one of Vincent's children, apparently, but Alice couldn't bring herself to think about that at that point. Vincent could very well have lied to Roger about that, she'd told herself, conveniently ignoring the fact that she was going on the premise that everything else that Vincent had said was the absolute truth. Instead, she had started to intentionally pick fights with her son, and then she had instituted increasingly restrictive and arbitrary rules until he had rebelled, and "run away". But in actual fact, Alice had driven him out of the house on purpose. She couldn't start her life's mission with him underfoot.

Once Eric was gone, Alice was free to begin. She had done some more research and found a few less-than-above-board places that sold different types of weapons. For a little extra cash, they would ignore the fact that you were shy about showing them the proper documentation. Fortunately, Alice had the money. Roger had left her well taken care of in that regard. She'd often wondered if he had taken out the insurance policy with the highest payoff because a part of him had known that he wasn't going to be around to take care of her and Eric later on in life.

Once Alice had built up a cache of weapons, she'd taught herself how to use them, and she had also taken some martial arts classes, under the guise of self-defense.

Then, for the final stroke, she had hired a man who she'd met at one of those shady weapons places to accompany her to Colorado, where they had broken into Cathy's office under cover of the night. He'd been the consummate professional, getting them into the office quickly and quietly. Then, as an added bonus, he had hacked into Cathy's computer at Alice's behest, and they had found and downloaded the file containing the information of the names, ages, and last known whereabouts of all of Vincent's children onto a small flash drive that Alice had slid into her pocket. It was a good thing she'd done that when she had, too. Less than a week afterwards, Gail and the Winchesters had paid Cathy a visit, and less than half an hour later, she was dead. After that, Vincent had shut down the office and destroyed everything.

So Alice had everything she needed, and she had been going through the files, tracking down as many of Vincent's bastards as she could find. He'd done her a huge favour when he'd blown up so many of them. Alice had feigned ignorance, but she had known full well that he'd had a few dozen of them in that compound, and unlike Cas's group, Alice knew exactly which ones had perished that day, and which ones still survived. She had deleted the dead ones from her computer file and then moved on. And, admittedly, a part of her wished that Gail, Rob, and even Eric hadn't escaped that day. That would certainly have made her job a lot easier. But, she would cross that bridge when she got to it. She had a ways to go before she had to face that particular dilemma.

"Can I get you anything else?" Alice asked her son, smiling across the table at him.

7 - STRATOSPHERE - ESCAPE FROM BABYLON

Sam and Dean had had a couple of beers and a bite to eat when they'd gotten back to the clubhouse, and Gail had a glass of wine. She and Dean had made a couple more crow jokes, but the incident had freaked all three of them out a little bit. Especially the part when the sky had darkened with the group of crows, mourning their fallen friend. Gail supposed it was touching, in a way, but that had just been a little too creepy for her liking. Cas, on the other hand, was more sanguine about it. He had seen far worse. In ancient times, scores of vultures would circle overhead, just waiting for an animal or human to fall. Then they would swoop down on the unfortunate victim, whether dead, or not. Cas's family had no idea how brutal things could really be.

"Well, it's been fun here, but how about we do the last Utterance now?" Sam said. He was anxious to get home and assuage his conscience.

"We can't," Cas said matter-of-factly. "The last Utterance is located at the top of the Stratosphere Tower. But, because the Stratosphere is the modern-day equivalent of the Lighthouse at Alexandria, Egypt, the verse is only visible at night. Which is just as well, because it will be less likely that I'll be observed that way."

"You?" Dean asked. "What do you mean?"

Cas smiled. "The verse will be illuminated on the top of the antenna shaft, at the very top of the Tower. There is no possible way for a human to get up there, and there is no ledge to stand on. Therefore, I will have to use my wings. The three of you will have to provide the necessary distraction."

"Cool," Dean said, nodding. He was trying to act casual about it, but he was actually excited to see that. Sometimes he forgot just how much like a superhero his best friend really was. But then, something occurred to him. If Cas could fly...

Sam beat his brother to it. "Does that mean YOU can fly, too?" he asked Gail.

She was startled. She opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. COULD she? Gail looked at Cas inquiringly.

Her husband was looking at her speculatively. Gail had been an Angel for a number of years now, and now that Patricia was no longer in the High Office, Castiel's wife was the highest-ranking female Angel in current existence, simply by virtue of being his wife. But she was also an Original, designated as such by God the Father Himself, one of the only three left in existence. Unlike many other Angels, Cas knew that Gail had her wings; he'd seen them a few times, in very intimate moments between the two of them. They were pristine white, soft and fluffy. Incredibly beautiful. But the situation had not really arisen where she'd had the opportunity to put them to use. He made a mental note to put that on the To Do list, as well. Certainly, they should do a test flight, for lack of a better term. But he wanted her first trial to be conducted far away from any prying eyes, in case she had trouble, and he had to rescue her.

"We'll have to find that out, but I see no reason why not," Cas told his companions.

"Then why don't you guys do it more often?" Sam persisted. He grinned. "I know you can teleport places instantly, but I think just flying around would be pretty cool, too."

Cas thought for a moment. How could he put this in a way that humans would understand? "Angels' wings are very personal to them, Sam," he finally said hesitantly. "You've heard the expression 'baring your soul'? For us, displaying our wings is very much like that. When we choose to show them, it is because the individual or individuals we are with when we do are trusted above all others."

Gail smiled, slipping her hand into her husband's. They had seen each other's wings, of course, during very special, intimate moments between them. Cas had also used his wings to rescue her from her suicide attempt, when Lucifer had put that spell on her.

Then, she remembered: "I saw Gabriel's wings once, when he faced down Raguel in Egypt," Gail told them.

Cas smiled grimly. He knew what she was talking about. That would have been right after Castiel had killed himself, rather than be forced by Raguel to hurt Gail. "They can also come out under situations that involve great emotional turmoil," he told the others. Cas was actually very touched about that on two fronts: first, because his Brother had obviously been very upset about Castiel's demise, and second, because Gabriel had trusted Gail enough to show them in front of her. That was the highest compliment one Angel could pay to another.

"Does that mean we'll get to see your wings tonight?" Dean asked Cas now.

"I suppose you will," Cas said, nodding. "You will be the first humans to ever have seen them. Well, the first ones who are still alive, anyway."

Dean was eyeing him suspiciously now. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, Dean. It means nothing," Cas said calmly. "Just don't look at them for too long, or you could become blinded."

"Are you kidding me with this?" the elder Winchester said, astonished. He looked at Gail. "IS he?"

She shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I've seen them, but I'm an Angel."

Dean did a double-take. Yeah, he could just bet that she'd seen them. But he honestly couldn't tell if Cas was joking, or not. He looked at Sam, but Sam shook his head. The younger Winchester didn't know, either. Damn Angels.

"If the two of you are finished, we can go somewhere this afternoon, and then return to the Stratosphere this evening," Cas said, ignoring the brothers' puzzled looks. He'd only been having a little fun at their expense, of course. Looking at his wings wouldn't blind them. But Cas had meant it when he'd said that showing one's wings was a very personal thing to do. And while the Winchesters were brothers to him now, and he trusted them implicitly, old habits died hard. It was only because he'd shown them to Gail and been assured that they were still presentable that he had the confidence to allow the Winchesters to see them now. With all of the terrible things that Castiel had done in the past, he'd felt sure that his wings would be tattered and threadbare. But thankfully, they were not. It would be very strange to be showing them in such a public place, but he would have to rely on his human brothers and his darling wife to provide the necessary diversion, so he wasn't observed.

"I'd love to go to the Hoover Dam," Sam remarked. "Or the Grand Canyon."

"Both of those would be wonderful," Cas agreed, nodding. "Unfortunately, both excursions, or even one of them, would be too time-consuming. We will have to do that another time."

Dean had grabbed a flyer from a rack of them at the cash register. "Hey, here's something," he said. "Bus trip to Igloo Ice Cream and Chocolate Factory, and Cactus Garden."

Sam was bemused. "Yeah? Neither of those things sound like anything you would want to do."

Dean shrugged. "It also says here that they drive by Arnold Schwarzenegger's mansion, in the desert. I want to see The Terminator's house." He looked at Cas. "One hour out, one there, and one back. It should be getting dark shortly after we come back."

"Just my luck," Gail said, making a face. "I'm an Angel, visiting a chocolate factory. Talk about a waste."

Dean smirked. "Too bad, Griselda. Them's the breaks."

"How long are you going to go on calling me that for?" she asked him.

"How long are you gonna go on calling me Egbert?" he countered.

She looked at him. OK, he kind of had her, there. "I'll tell you what," Gail said to him. "You know what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? Well, how about if we just make those our Vegas names?"

"Deal," Dean said, and they smiled at each other.

Then the four of them paid the bill and went off to buy tickets for the bus trip.

Patricia supposed she'd better look for a job soon, but right now, she was just savouring her freedom. She'd taken some of the money she'd stolen from the crazy people in the institution and bought a bus ticket to Utah. Fortunately, she hadn't had to worry about buying any clothing; at least, not right away. She had sized up the women in the common room and once she'd picked one out that had pretty much the same figure as Patricia herself did, it had been just a simple matter of sneaking into the woman's room and stealing a couple of items every few days until eventually, Patricia had a couple of outfits to wear. She'd already raided as many other rooms as she was able for all the cash she could get her hands on. Those people wouldn't miss it. They only used the money their family members brought them to buy snacks. Many of the people who were there were too crazy to know or remember they had money, anyway.

But the amount that Patricia had been able to amass was relatively small. The institution's staff were duty-bound to report any discoveries of large amounts of cash, lest the person who was hoarding it was considering flying the coop. Patricia had smirked at that when the institution's rules had been explained to her, and it still amused her now. Most of the residents were way too crazy to plan an escape, and the few that seemed sane enough to possibly try it were too intimidated to make the attempt.

Patricia wasn't intimidated, though; not by anyone, or anything. She had been God. No, her problem was that the bitterness and resentment she had felt when Bobby had first brought her to the mental institution had been allowed to fester and grow. They had dumped her there, alleging that she would receive help. But no real help had been forthcoming, just a lot of talk, and empty phrases. She needed to become empowered, they'd told her. Work through her sadness and depression, and come out the other side. Well, she had news for them. She no longer HAD any power. Castiel had taken her Grace and locked her away there, and she had been forgotten. She wasn't sad or depressed, she was mad as hell. Truly, it was a good thing she didn't still have her powers, or everyone in that institution would now be a distant memory.

Right now, Patricia had no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her existence. All she knew was that, from everything she had seen of the modern human race so far, the Archangels had had the right idea. Things were bad here on Earth, and they seemed to be getting worse and worse all the time. Commandments were being broken right and left. Sinning and fornication were the order of the day. Lucifer may be gone, but he had certainly left a legacy. Other than shattering Patricia's innocence and ruining her life, of course.

She had passed a fair amount of time in the institution reading up on the planet where she now found herself. From all accounts, Utah was one of the least objectionable places to live. At least, it seemed to be where some of the least amount of sinning took place. So Patricia was going to head there, and then figure out where she went from here.

So far, the bus trip had had a little something for everyone. Gail liked the fact that it was air-conditioned, and that the glass in the windows was tinted, keeping the worst of the hot afternoon sun at bay. Cas was enjoying the ride, and the tour guide's informative commentary about the sights in the area. Dean was liking that too, especially all the humourous pop culture references the guy was making. And Sam was just appreciating the fact that the bus driver seemed to be sober, for a welcome change.

They disembarked at the Chocolate Factory for the tour of the facility, and Gail had to admit, it was pretty interesting to watch how various chocolate products were made. At the end of the tour, they gave out free samples of candy, or small chocolate ice cream cones. She opted for the latter, when she saw that the factory tour emptied out into the cactus garden. The temperature was well into the 90s by that time.

All four of them sat in the shade of the building. Even Cas had taken a chocolate treat. He'd wanted to see if having witnessed how it was made affected the taste.

There was a little girl who'd come along on the bus trip, who looked to be about nine or ten. She had chocolate all over her face, and she was running around yelling at the top of her lungs. Gail's lips twitched. The kid reminded her of the little boy in the movie A League Of Their Own, the one who ran up and down the aisles of the team bus, screaming, holding a chocolate bar in each hand.

But after a couple of minutes, it was getting really annoying. The girl's parents seemed to realize that, too, because they were looking around nervously. Finally, her father bought the child a balloon at the gift shop to placate her. It seemed to work, because she'd calmed down somewhat, after that.

"Thank God," Dean muttered. "Kid has a set of pipes on her."

Gail rolled her eyes. That was an understatement. She finished her ice cream cone, taking the napkins that Cas handed her. She wiped her hands, impressed that they had hardly any ice cream on them. It was a hot day. But then again, it had been a very small cone, too.

"Do you want to look at the cacti?" Cas asked her.

Gail shrugged. "Sure, I guess so. We have a little time to kill, anyway." She stood and looked out at all the different varieties, on either side of the winding path.

The little girl had run up the path ahead of her parents, and she was yelling loudly again, for no apparent reason. Gail sighed. The child was still holding her balloon by the string, and she had played out the line, as if flying a kite.

Suddenly, they heard a loud POP! sound, like the backfire of a car. The balloon had gotten a little too close to one of the cacti. The girl stood there open-mouthed as her balloon exploded. She looked at the piece of string in her hand. Then she lifted her head to the skies and started to bawl, at the top of her lungs.

And that was when Gail started to laugh. She laughed and laughed, until her stomach hurt, and tears started to flow from her eyes. And still, she couldn't stop. She had to sit back down on the bench, because she was doubling over with laughter.

The little girl's parents ran to collect her, promising to buy her another balloon, and Gail burst into another round of laughter. She continued to laugh as they passed by her, shooting her dirty looks. But she was helpless now, unable to stop.

Finally, after another couple of minutes, Gail's laughter subsided to a few snorts and giggles, and she was gradually able to stop. She wiped her eyes with her hands, looking up at the men. They were all staring down at her, not saying anything.

"Really?" Dean finally said. "Really?"

"What?" she retorted. "Come on! That was funny!"

"Wow," Sam remarked, grinning. "Are you ever mean, laughing at a little girl like that."

"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed. "She ran through a cactus garden with a balloon!" She laughed again. "And then, she looked surprised!"

"What do you think of your wife, laughing at a little kid like that?" Dean said, elbowing Cas as Gail tried to collect herself again.

"I love to see Gail laughing, Dean," Cas answered diplomatically. "That means she is happy."

"You're wasting your time, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter what she does, Cas'll find a way to put a positive spin on it." He nudged his brother. "Hey, 'Cas': Gail just robbed a liquor store. What do you have to say about that?"

Dean cleared his throat, then spoke, imitating Cas: "Surely, that is my fault, Sam," he said in his best Cas voice. "I should have stocked our liquor cabinet, so that she would not need to do that."

The brothers laughed, and then Dean said, "Hey, Cas: Gail just joined the Mafia."

"That's wonderful, Dean," Sam said, trying his hand at imitating Cas. "That means our family just grew bigger."

They laughed again, and then Sam said, "Hey, Cas: Gail just punched an elderly person in the face."

"Well then, that person was surely deserving of such a reprimand," Dean said in the gravelly voice.

"Boy, I wish you could still smite people, sometimes," Gail said to her husband, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"Me too, my love," he replied, his lips twitching furiously. "Me, too." He took her hand, and she rose from the bench. They started off down the path to the cactus garden as the Winchesters trailed behind, still laughing.

"Kim is here to see you, Sir," Benoit's secretary said over the Intercom. "She says she has a couple of ideas she wants to discuss with you about the campaign."

"Send her in," Benoit said, putting down his pen. He told all of his staff that he had an open-door policy. If they had any ideas as to how to improve the way his campaign was being run, he wanted to hear them. This was his first time doing this, too, he'd said charmingly.

He was especially interested in receiving input from Vincent's offspring. They were still discovering the depths of the individual talents they had. All eight of them were young, and still stretching the limits of their powers.

That fact became apparent when Kim entered his office. The secretary had said that Kim was a female, but it was a young man who entered Benoit's office now.

"Sorry," Kim said. "I couldn't resist."

Benoit looked at him calmly. He'd already known that Kim was a changeling. He, or she, as the case may be, could change genders at will. Benoit had been very intrigued at this revelation, at the compound. How convenient. If there was a slip-up, and the authorities were looking for a person of interest of one gender, it would be a huge asset to have someone at your disposal who could immediately change from one to the other.

But, Kim had a surprise for him now. "I want to show you something," he said with a mischievous smile. "Close your eyes."

Benoit sighed inwardly. This was the trouble with the really young ones. Kim was only 22 years old, and still very immature. But he was curious, now. He closed his eyes.

After a moment, Kim said, "Now, open them."

Benoit did, and his eyes widened. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn that this was a practical joke.

Sitting in the chair across from him was a tall, middle-aged black woman. Kim, whether male or female, was white. "Pretty good, huh?" she said.

Benoit began to smile.

It was nighttime in Vegas now, and the four of them rode up the elevator to the observation deck at The Stratosphere.

When they got to the big picture window, they were transfixed by the sight of all the neon lights, shining up and down the Strip. They were so high up that they could see how many lights there really were, and the sight was amazing.

"OK, so, here's the plan," Dean said after a moment. "The three of us are gonna buy a ticket to go on that ride that hangs off the top. Once we get on, that'll be Gail's cue. She's gonna start getting hysterical, as soon as they strap her in. Then, when everybody's paying attention to her, Flyboy will do his thing, and then we'll be all set."

"And, I'll have the extra added bonus of not having to go on the stupid ride," Gail chipped in.

"What? You don't want to feel the sensation of plummeting hundreds of feet to the ground?" Sam joked.

Gail made a face. "You know, the longer we're in Vegas, the less funny you guys get."

"Are you sure you want to do this, my love?" Cas said with a concerned look. "I don't want you to be frightened."

"I'm the only one who CAN do it, Cas," she told her husband. "If Sam or Dean tried to pull that off, they'd probably just strap them in and tell them to 'man up'. So as much as I'd like to see Dean screaming like a little girl, or Sam pee his pants, it has to be me. I'll even burst into tears, if I have to."

Cas nodded. "All right. I will be as quick as I can." He held his hand out to Sam, who gave Cas his cell phone. "Please, just don't drop it," Sam said with a half-smile.

The three of them lined up, got their tickets, and were loaded onto the ride a few minutes later.

"She wants to sit in the front," Dean said to the young employee who was strapping them in. Dean pushed Gail forward, and she gave him a momentary glare. Then she looked down, and she froze in fear. Boy, that was a long way down to the ground. There was a brisk wind at this height, blowing her hair all around, and Dean was pushing her to the front car, where she would have nothing to impede her view of the ground, rushing towards her face. Hysterics? No problem.

Jimmy helped his customer sit down in the front seat, and he grabbed the harness to strap her in at the shoulders and the waist. He'd done it a million times before. But tonight, he'd been preoccupied, ever since he'd heard that the Progressive Jackpot on the Three Lions machine at the Mirage had climbed to an unheard-of eight million dollars. Every night when Jimmy got off work, he would rush over there and play it as long as he could, and then play it again, every morning. He'd never played a machine with a Progressive that high, and he'd poured hundreds of dollars into the thing. Maybe even thousands. He was obsessed with the stupid thing now. Everybody said it was about to pop any minute, and he intended to be the one it went to. Jimmy loved Vegas, but this was a dead-end job. If he could win a stake that big, he could move to Hollywood and start doing auditions.

So since Jimmy had that Jackpot on his mind, he neglected to do the safety check on Gail's harness. Once he'd belted everyone in, he was supposed to go up and down the line and give all the harnesses a hard tug, to make sure. But this was the end of his shift, so he'd rushed through the process.

Gail had no idea, of course. The harness felt secure enough to her. But it looked like they were getting ready to start the ride now, so she went into her act.

"I can't do this," she said loudly. Then she yelled, "Let me off! I can't do this! Please! I need to get off the ride, NOW!"

But Jimmy had his earbuds in. He wasn't supposed to wear them at work, but he'd been doing it for months, and nobody could see them, anyway. So he didn't hear Gail when she shouted out.

Jimmy went back to the booth and pulled the lever that moved the car into position, pointing it down to the ground. That was done by design, for a couple of different reasons. First of all, it was intended as a last-ditch safety measure. The ride was poised to drop dramatically from this position, so when it was initially moved like this, if anyone wasn't belted in properly, there was still an opportunity to fix that. Also, it was meant to heighten the fear and suspense that the riders were supposed to feel.

Gail WAS scared now. She didn't even have to fake it. She hadn't expected the car to just drop like that, and evenn though the drop had probably only been a few feet, she could see the ground way, way down there. People did this for fun? Then, people were crazy.

And then, it happened: her harness sprang open, and she could feel herself tipping forward. She flailed around, trying to find something to grab onto, but there was nothing. Nothing at all. She started to slide out of her seat.

"Help! I'm falling!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

Sam and Dean were seated behind her, looking at her with puzzled expressions. Maybe she was just improvising now, because that attendant guy hadn't reacted to what she'd been doing before. But was it their imagination, or WAS she actually sliding forward?

"She's not faking, Dean!" Sam shouted. He lunged forward, but of course, he was belted in securely. So he was just able to snag the back of her top, but her forward motion ripped the material right out of his hand.

Gail's last thought, as she fell from the ride and began to plummet towards the ground, was that this was typical of her entire existence. Not only was she going to die in a spectacularly gory fashion, but she was going to be half-naked when she did it. Great. Just great.

Xavier and Lanister knew where the Portal to the Lake of Fire was, of course. Ever since their former boardmate Alexander had been promoted to be the Keeper of the Lake, they had been making clandestine visits to him every once in a while. The three of them went back a long, long time, back to when they had all been members of the Old Guard in Heaven. The Upper Echelon. Until Castiel had killed them, of course.

Well, technically speaking, he had only murdered Lanister. But he had sent Xavier and Alexander to Earth as humans, thereby condemning them to death just as surely as if he had raised his blade. The older Angels had been ill-equipped to live life as humans, and they simply couldn't cope. And when all three men had died, they had gone straight to Hell for their roles in railroading Castiel and Gail at the tribunal, and sentencing Castiel to death, mostly for having the temerity to be different.

Mark's appearance in Hell had occurred directly as a result of Castiel having killed Ammit back in 2500 BC, but the Gospel writer actually felt a small amount of gratitude to his former Angel Brother for that. However, if Castiel had just killed Ammit at the Lake of Fire before she had thrown Mark in, he wouldn't have had to suffer that torment, he rationalized. Besides, he was with the others: Mark hated Castiel. Well, maybe "hate" was a strong word, but he certainly didn't like him. Castiel always walked around Heaven with his nose in the air, as if he owned the place. He'd always been odd, too. A square peg in a round hole. A rebellious child. Even when he'd appeared to be falling in line, Castiel did what he wanted when he wanted, and except for a couple of notable incidents of severe discipline, God the Father had usually seemed to chuckle indulgently when hearing of his Son's latest exploits, and then turn a blind eye. The last straw, as far as many of the longer-serving Angels were concerned, had been when Castiel had been appointed to lead the foray into Hell to raise a human named Dean Winchester from perdition. The order had come from God Himself, so none dared question it, even though many wondered what was so special about one human that would warrant the sacrifice of so many. But, theirs was not to question why. At least, not out loud.

And Castiel had performed the task successfully, although many other Angels had perished. But then, he had fallen in love with the Winchesters, and the human lifestyle. For years, he had had one foot in Heaven, and the other on Earth. Time and time again, Castiel had chosen the humans over his brethren, and time and time again, God had let him.

Now Bobby Singer was God, and Castiel spent nearly all of his time on Earth. He had clearly made his choice. But he had left a trail of vengeful Angels in his wake, and as Xavier, Lanister and Mark stood talking to Alexander at the Lake of Fire, they were talking about that very subject.

Alexander had been shocked to see Mark, in his present vessel. The men had filled him in on Mark's journey to Hell, but with one important difference: Mark had never told any of the former Angels that he had once been in Lucifer's employ. There was absolutely no reason to get into that. They were stuck-up, stuffed-shirt men who still thought like elite Angels, even though they'd been banished to Hell. No. Mark had always had the instincts of a good con man, and he recognized that he would be far more welcomed by this group if he joined the "I hate Castiel" club. So he told them a fabricated story about Castiel the General, wanting to move against anyone who might oppose his taking over the High Office. They had fought valiantly, but Mark had ultimately lost his life. Then, once Castiel had achieved the High Office, he had made a deal with Crowley to ship Mark here, to the Lake of Fire.

"I knew it," Xavier fumed. "I tried to tell people how immoral he is, at the tribunal. He has gotten away with far too much, for far too long."

"But does any of that really matter?" Alexander asked the men. "If Bobby is in the Office now, and Castiel has gone to Earth to do whatever he is doing there, does any of that really matter? The Father is gone, and Castiel no longer wields power in Heaven."

"I think you are just saying that because YOU wield power now, here," Lanister had said pointedly. "Besides, you seem to be forgetting that his wife has never paid her debt for killing my son."

"In any event, I don't know why we're all standing around talking about this," Alexander said impatiently. "You'd better get back, before Crowley finds out you're gone."

Xavier laughed scornfully. "Crowley has no idea what goes on, right under his nose. But that's what we came here to tell you: we're not going back. The three of us are going to Earth."

"Earth? That's a horrible place! Why would you want to do that?" Alexander asked them incredulously.

Lanister stared at him with a baleful expression. "We shovel snakes into a pit in Hell, Alexander. All day, every day."

Alexander shrugged. "Fine. But how are you going to get there, then?"

"Leave that to me," Mark said confidently. "If this Lake is set up like the one Ammit ran, there's a secret entrance." He started walking around the perimeter of the Lake, peering intently.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Brothers?" Alexander asked the others uncertainly.

"Yes, of course we're sure," Xavier said crossly. "We have a higher calling."

Alexander sighed. Well, he had tried. He was convinced that they didn't know what they were walking into. But he wouldn't stand in their way, if they were determined to go. He owed them that much.

"Come here," Mark said, beckoning to the men. They moved over to where he stood. He pointed down. "It turns out that the only way out is through," Mark said, smirking. "That was smart of the King."

He pushed Xavier and Lanister into the Lake.

Alexander gasped. "What have you done?"

"Look," Mark told the Keeper. "There's the Portal, right there." He turned to Alexander. "Well, as the humans say: 'it's been real'. Don't let the job go to your head, Alexander. Crowley will be only too happy to replace you, if you do. Either the easy way - " He looked down at the Lake. " - Or, the hard way. Goodbye, Alexander." Then he jumped into the Lake, into the same spot where he'd pushed the others.

Crowley knew, of course. It was amazing how many of them thought they were pulling the wool over his eyes. But he knew everything worth knowing about what went on in his Kingdom. If something nefarious was going on, it was because he allowed it. Of course Demons were unhappy with their positions in Hell. It was Hell, not Club Med. But, unbeknownst to Hell's rank and file denizens, the King deliberately ignored some of the more harmless activities. Drinking? Gambling? Whoring? Sure, why not? After all, those were the types of activities that had landed many of them here in the first place. Even rape and murder were condoned, as long as the status quo was maintained. HIS status quo.

Crowley was thoughtful now. He could always get more snake handlers. He had originally placed the three Upper Echelon members in the pit because it had amused him to do so. They'd needed to be taken down a peg or ten, and Crowley had probably been trying to make some sort of statement at the time. Something about religious types and snake handling, possibly. He didn't remember any more.

Maybe he'd made the wrong choice in promoting Alexander to administrate the Lake of Fire. But it had seemed very logical at the time. Regardless of how Crowley felt about the Angels personally, he'd had to acknowledge that they knew how to take care of business. He'd needed someone to run the operations there, and out of the three of them, Crowley had thought that Alexander would be the most professional in his judgement of the souls that were sent there. Xavier and Lanister were both petty and vindictive individuals. Crowley wouldn't put it above either of them to get greedy, and start taking more souls to feed the Lake, as Ammit had been doing before he'd shut the place down. Well, all right; he supposed Castiel had done that for him, really. But in any event, the King wasn't looking for another uprising. The more souls that were fed into the Lake, the stronger its administrator could become. That was why Ammit had been going to Earth, poaching souls. And that had been the capper: Crowley knew that Alexander hated Earth. He had suffered greatly during his stint there, and he had no desire to return. So Crowley'd figured it was a calculated risk to put Alexander in charge of the Lake.

He hadn't really cared when the other two visited their former compatriot at the Lake either, once in a while. The snake pit could keep. There was really no need to watch the serpents 24/7, anyway. Where were they going to go? They were in a pit. But part of the joy of being the King was the ability to make individuals do whatever they hated to do the most, all day long, for eternity.

But now, Xavier and Lanister had escaped, and so had Mark, a relatively new addition to their unhappy little family. Right under the King's nose. Oh, my. Whatever was he going to do?

Crowley smirked, pouring himself a drink. When were those lummoxes ever going to learn? Crowley was far more clever than all of them, and he was a master chess player. What did they take him for? He had brought Mark to the snake pits on purpose, knowing that the former Gospel writer would propose an escape. He'd known that Xavier and Lanister would jump at the chance, but that Alexander would not. So, let the former Angels go to Earth. What did Crowley care? He'd originally thought he would keep Mark, but try as he might, the King had been unable to come up with one single, solitary advantage to having Mark around. Out of the four Gospel writers, Mark was the weakest, and most cowardly. John had been a dullard, but he'd had the muscle, and an instinctual evil cunning. Luke was an intellectual, who comported himself with dignity. If Crowley'd had his druthers, he would much rather have had Luke. Still waters ran deep, and the King had a very strong feeling that Luke knew a great many things about a great many things. But Luke was inaccessible to Crowley, because Luke was in the Netherworld. It was likewise with Matthew, whose demise was still shrouded in mystery. The common wisdom suggested that Matthew had committed suicide, but Crowley didn't believe that for a minute. Matthew hadn't been the type. If he had thrown in with Lucifer, that would have been a conscious and well-thought-out decision on his part. Matthew had been an intellectual too, the elder statesman of the Gospels. That was why his name had come first, just like the star of the movie. There was no way an individual like Matthew would have committed suicide. No way. Castiel and Bobby had convinced themselves that he had, but they were projecting their own attributes onto him. They had consciences, whereas Matthew did not. He couldn't have, if he had aligned himself with Lucifer. He would have allowed them to put him in Heaven's prison, sitting stoically in his cell for all eternity, admitting to nothing. No, Matthew hadn't committed suicide. He'd been murdered. Crowley would stake his Kingdom on it. The question was: why, and by whom? No one knew where Matthew was now. Maybe Death had made an example of him and put him in Limbo, or in Purgatory, for that matter. Maybe Venus, or Neptune. Who bloody knew?

Mark could run around Earth playing Big Shot Gospel Writer all he wanted, but Crowley would be the most surprised individual in Creation if he actually accomplished anything worthwhile. But it was ultimately to Crowley's benefit to have Xavier and Lanister roaming the Earth. That was Castiel's new stomping ground, after all, and both of those individuals had bitter grudges against Crowley's brother. Castiel thought he had gotten away with his little incursion into Crowley's Kingdom, but Cas had thought wrong. As far as Crowley was concerned, the more people who hated his brother that were out there on the loose, the merrier.

The King poured himself another drink.

Sam and Dean were panicking now, scrabbling away at their harnesses and yelling for the young guy who had strapped them in. But, really, what could any of them do to get to Gail in time?

They had to do it. They had no choice. "CAS!" Dean lifted his head and bellowed, so loudly that his throat would hurt for about a week afterwards. "GAIL'S FALLING!"

Cas had been hovering at the top of the antenna, recording the Utterance on Sam's cell phone. He had taken his shirt off and tied it around his waist, so that his wings would be unencumbered. And he'd needed them, too. There was nothing to stand on this high up, only air. He had just finished entering the Utterance when he heard the brothers' frantic cries. WHAT?!

He shoved the cell phone in his pants pocket, looking down. To his horror, he saw her, plummeting towards the ground. Unbelievable!

Cas flapped his wings, pointing his vessel straight down. If he hurried, there should still be time to intercept her. "Gail!" he shouted. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

She heard Cas's voice from somewhere up above her, and despite the horror of the moment, Gail smiled wryly. "Hold on?" What was she supposed to do? Pull the emergency brake?

But then, she realized what an idiot she was. Clearly, Cas was flying down here to rescue her. Flying. Hadn't they just been talking about this, a little while ago?

Gail concentrated, and a moment later, she felt them. Her wings came out of her back, with a floomph! sound. It had actually turned out to be just as well that she was clad only in her bra above the waist, she supposed, because her wings would probably have ripped her top off, anyway.

Cas was relieved to see Gail's wings emerge. Her momentum slowed as they acted like a parachute, opening wide. She began to float towards the ground as Cas caught up to her. He put his arms around her from behind, and the two of them landed softly on the pavement.

"Thank you, Father," Cas breathed as Gail turned around to look at her husband. "I was so scared," Cas told her. He crushed her to him.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Gail said. "I never even thought of using my wings. I guess I panicked." She was shaking now. Wow. How stupid had that been?

"It's all right, my love," he said, but he was shaking now, too. He looked down at her, trying to smile. "Well, these aren't the circumstances I would have picked for your first test, but it's good to know that they do work," Cas said lightly. He kissed her on the lips, and he felt her wings gently stroking hers.

"Wow, man, that was impressive," a young man said from behind them. "How'd you do that?"

Oh, crap. How were they going to explain this? Gail turned around to look at the guy. There were about a dozen people standing on the sidewalk, staring at them.

Gail thought fast. "We're Angels," she said matter-of-factly. She could hear the sharp intake of breath coming from Cas behind her, so she added quickly, "Come see Criss Angel's new magic show, opening in the spring."

Cas relaxed as the assembled people applauded. That had been clever, he told her over their frequency. Just taking a leaf out of your book, sweetie, she responded.

"Those are cool parachutes," the young man said. "Awesome."

"Aren't they?" Cas said calmly. "But we'd better put them away now. We don't want to give away too many secrets before the show."

Their wings receded, and Cas untied his shirt from his waist and put it on his wife. She thanked him, and shrugged it on.

"We'd better get back up there and let the guys know everything's OK," Gail said. "They must be flipping out."

Cas took her hand, smiling grimly. "I don't think I've ever heard Dean shout that loudly before."

They went upstairs to the Observation Deck, where a furious pair of Winchesters were yelling at Jimmy. The young man's face was ashen. He'd finally realized what was going on, and he was freaking out. Oh, God. He'd screwed up, big time. He had killed somebody. He wasn't gonna go to Hollywood; he was gonna go to jail.

Dean and Sam saw Cas and Gail get off the elevator, and they ran toward their friends.

"Oh, thank God," Sam breathed. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Gail told him. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she was feeling giddy. "Thanks for undressing me in public, by the way." But then she stretched up to kiss him on the cheek, to show him she was only teasing.

"Way to step up," Dean said to Cas, pulling Gail away from his brother so that he could hug her, too. "I'm gonna have laryngitis for about a month, though."

"How did you - how are you - " Jimmy stammered, gaping at Gail.

Cas looked at the young man. He was very angry now, but he was trying to hold on to his temper. It was clear that the youth had been careless, and had Gail been a human, she would have died. As it was, if she had not had the presence of mind to use her wings, or had Cas not been there, Gail's vessel would have been destroyed. She could possibly have expelled her essence before impact and found another willing vessel, but that wasn't the point. The point was...

"What's your name?" Cas demanded of the young ride operator.

"Jimmy," he replied nervously. He was still staring at Gail. How the hell was she still alive, and who was this guy?

Cas slapped his hand on Jimmy's forehead, and he was none too gentle about it. "You don't want to work here anymore, Jimmy," the Angel said sternly. Now that he had the connection, he saw why Jimmy had been so distracted. "And, you will never gamble again," Cas added. Then he let go of the young man.

Jimmy blinked a few times in rapid succession. Then he said, "Thank you," although it was unclear exactly who he was addressing. Then he hurried over to the elevator, and a minute later, he was gone.

"I think we could all use a drink," Dean announced. "Or, four or five." He clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Even you, Chief. You're looking a little shook up."

"Did you get the Utterance?" Sam asked their Angel friend.

"Oh. Oh, yes, I did," Cas said, reaching into his pants pocket and handing Sam his cell phone. "Here you go, Sam. I didn't drop it."

"I'm just glad you didn't drop the most important thing," Dean said, chucking Gail under the chin. She smiled warmly at him. "You know, for an ex-husband, you're all right, Mr. Winchester," she said pertly. Then she looked at Sam. "You, too. Too bad your arms weren't just a few inches longer, though. Then we wouldn't even be having this conversation." Then she looked at a still bare-chested Cas, taking his hand. "And as much as I'm enjoying the view, we'd better get you a shirt to wear, if we're going to go for a drink."

Cas was staring at her now, expressionless. "What?" Gail said, puzzled.

"We will go back to the Venetian," Cas said. He looked at Sam and Dean. "We will have one drink with the two of you. Then, we will go our separate ways. You can drive back. Gail and I have business elsewhere."

The brothers were a little taken aback for a minute, but they figured that Cas was just anxious to get Kevin started on the project. "I'll e-mail all seven Utterances to Kevin now," Sam said, and Cas nodded. "Thank you, Sam. I would appreciate that."

Cas and Gail had already packed when they'd checked out of the hotel earlier, so he retrieved his shirt from Gail, and she got another top from her bag in the trunk. She had Dean unlock the car, and told the brothers to turn around so she could change in the Impala's back seat. The brothers debated telling her that they'd both seen her in her bra now, but they figured they'd better not push it.

The four of them had their drink, talking and laughing about a few highlights from the last few days. Then Cas tossed some money on the table and stood, extending his hand to Gail. "I want to thank the both of you, from the bottom of my heart," Cas said to the brothers. "Gail and I can always depend on you to help us on our missions, and I can always rely on you to help me look out for Gail..." He trailed off, and Gail realized he was choking up, so she squeezed his hand. "...And to make really, really bad jokes," she finished for him, smiling.

The guys stood up, and the four of them exchanged hugs. Cas asked the brothers to take the Angels' bags back to the bunker with them, and they would pick them up in the next day or so.

Gail kissed Dean on the cheek. "So long, Egbert."

"Right back at'cha, Griselda," he replied, smiling.

Gail put her hand on Sam's arm. "Good luck with..." she started to say, and then she realized she had no idea how to end that sentence. "Good luck," she said again, and Sam nodded. She was referring to the situations with Quinn and Becky, of course.

The Angels left the bar hand in hand, and Gail looked at her husband. "Are we going to see Kevin now?"

But Cas shook his head. "Not right away. There's something else I want to do, first." He led her by the hand outside the hotel, to stand on the Promenade. Once he saw that there were no people near them, he winked them both away.

A moment later, they were standing in the desert, beneath a canopy of stars.

"I would like you to do something for me," Cas said. "I would like us to fly together."

She looked at him. "I'd like that too, Cas, but I don't know if I can."

"Of course you can," he said firmly. "Trust me, and trust yourself." Then he smiled gently. "I love you." He leaned down to kiss her, and then he pulled her top off over her head. "We'll come back for that," Cas quipped. Then he took his shirt off, placing it on the ground beside hers.

Cas took both of her hands in his, and a moment later, his wings emerged. It took Gail another minute, but eventually hers came out, too. Cas embraced her, and their wings merged together. Gail reached up and stroked his wing with her hand, and Cas made a low sound in his throat.

"Let's go, sweetie," she said, smiling.

Then they were in mid-air, and then they were flying. Cas had a hold of her hand, watching her carefully, just in case. But after a short while, Gail's confidence grew, and she soared upwards, then darted back down to where he was. Now, she was laughing delightedly. This was fantastic! Why had she never tried this before?

"I want to try something else now, if you trust me," Cas said, taking her hand. "Do you trust me?"

Gail looked at him. "Of course I do, Cas. I trust you with everything I have, and everything I am."

"Then, come with me," he said.

Suddenly, they were among the stars, and their vessels melted away into their true forms. This was the first time that Cas had seen Gail's true form, and he was astonished. She was beautiful. No, not simply beautiful: breathtaking. Her golden essence suffused her form, and he could feel it envelop him, drizzling over him like warm honey. Cas sent his essence back to Gail, and his cool blue essence washed over her, as refreshing as an unexpected summer breeze.

"You put the stars to shame," Cas told her, and she shimmered with happiness in response to his compliment. His true form was magnificent, as always. She couldn't think of the words to express how luminescent he was.

The Angels floated and flew among the stars for a while, and their emotions and their intellect merged into the perfect union. It was wonderful. Exhilarating.

When they finally returned to the spot in the desert from where they'd started and metamorphosed back into their vessels, Gail touched Cas's wings, smiling. "I hope you don't mind, but it looks like you have a little gold edging around your wings, now."

Cas smiled happily. "And you have a faint blue tint to yours," he told her. "That means that we have achieved the ultimate bond. Now, we have made love on the celestial plane."

"That was amazing, sweetie," she said, touching his face. Then she smiled shyly. "But now that we have our vessels back, do you think we could do it on the non-celestial plane?"

Cas laughed softly. "I believe that can be arranged," he said, winking them away.

Reasoning that Kevin and Emma would need a while to get to work on the anagram, Cas had taken Gail to their house on Earth. Both of them had been extremely excited after their excursion to the stars, and Cas enjoyed the physical sensations associated with making love the human way as much as he'd enjoyed what they had just done. So they'd spent another blissful couple of hours in their bed at home, and just before dawn broke on Earth, Kevin called Cas on Angel Radio.

"I think we've got something, Cas," he said, "but we don't know exactly what it means. Do you think you guys could come here and take a look?"

"Certainly, Kevin," Cas had responded, and he and Gail had taken their showers and dressed, walking into the room where Kevin and Emma were working a short time later.

"What have you got, Kevin?" Cas asked the young Angel.

"Maybe something, and maybe nothing," Kevin replied. Then he laughed shortly. "I realize how that sounds. We've been working for hours, and we think we've got the thirteen words. Maybe. But if you try to read it as a sentence, it doesn't really work."

"What are the thirteen words?" Cas asked him. "Can we see them?"

Kevin showed them the piece of paper he'd written the words on, once he and Emma had diagrammed everything, and had agreed on the words to choose. "We can keep working on it if you want, but this is the only thing we could come up with that even comes close to making sense."

Gail was peering at the words now, and an idea was forming in her head. "Hang on a second," she said, and then she popped out. They all looked at each other quizzically, but a moment later, she was back, carrying an easel with flipchart pages on it.

Cas rushed forward to help her, but she said, "It's OK, sweetie. I've got it." She set the easel down. "I borrowed this from the boardroom, and this marker, too. Read me the words as you have them written there. I want to try something." Kevin did as she requested, and she wrote down the words as a list, top to bottom. Then she stepped back, pointing to each word with her marker.

"So, the words are all here, and they kind of make sense. But if we add a bit of punctuation, I think it makes more sense if we read it as a sort of couplet, rather than a sentence." Gail made a couple of punctuation marks, separating the words, and then she stepped back again. "What do you think?"

Cas read aloud:

"But Only One Key

Opens.

Fail

To Heed,

Everything

Dies. Earth,

Annihilated.

Destroyed."

Kevin nodded soberly. "You're right. That's it."

"And now, for my next amazing trick..." Gail said. She took the marker and drew a long circle, up and down, around the first letter of each word.

"Holy moly," Emma breathed. "I'm so stupid! I didn't even see that!"

"Don't feel bad!" Gail said to the young Angels. "You've been staring at all those words for hours. Sometimes it just takes a fresh pair of eyes."

Cas stood there, open-mouthed. The first letter of every word, when put together, spelled out "Book Of The Dead"! He looked at his wife. "That's brilliant, my darling."

But Gail was frowning. "Yeah, but the question is: what does that even mean?"

"OK, let's think about this, now," Emma said, frowning with concentration. "There's a key that opens something, but only the one key will work."

"It talks about 'failing to heed'. That's usually a warning, or an omen, of some sort," Cas mused out loud. He felt a flutter in his stomach. How many times had he done that very thing? Ignored omens? He was doing it right now, in fact.

"Everything dies, if we fail to heed...whatever. Well, that's great," Gail said sarcastically. "Not the least bit ominous. Well, at least they're being specific about it."

Emma opened her mouth to state that it wasn't specific at all, but then she realized that Gail was using sarcasm, so she closed it again.

"Earth is annihilated. Destroyed," Kevin finished. "Did anybody else just get goosebumps?"

Gail was scared by the implications of what they were discussing here, but she was also getting angry now. Why did everything have to be so complicated? So enigmatic? Just once, she would like to find something that said, "What you're looking for is right here, you stupid idiot." Insult aside, would that ever be a refreshing change.

"It's creepy, all right, but what the hell does it have to do with finding the Book of the Dead?" Gail said, frustrated.

"That's a good question, and I've got an answer for ya, too," Bobby said, entering the room. He was holding a red file in his hand. "And, the answer is: absolutely nothing. There IS no Book of the Dead."

Cas's forehead wrinkled. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know. It was hard for me to believe, too," Bobby said, showing them the file he was holding. "But, guess what? According to this, the Pyramid Texts and the Seven Utterances of the Coffin Texts are all that remain. If there ever was an actual Book of the Dead, it was destroyed, long ago."

"Well then, what was the POINT of this whole thing?!" Emma exclaimed, perhaps louder than she'd intended. Bobby looked at her. "Sir," she added timidly.

Bobby's beard twitched. "I'm sure I don't know, Emma," he said. "It looks like we've been chasing a ghost book, all this time."

"But then, what good are these Utterances, other than scaring the crap out of us?" Gail said irritably.

Bobby shrugged. "Beats me. But they obviously have some use, or their locations wouldn't have been in a red file. Laurel says those files were written by God, Himself."

"Take a look at what we've got here, Bobby," Cas said, thoughtful. "What do you think?"

Bobby studied the flipboard page. Finally, he said, "Sorry, I have no idea. Let me think on it a while. Here, Kevin. Give me a pen and a piece of paper. I want to jot this down." He did so, then stuffed the paper in his shirt pocket. "I'll let you know if I come up with anything. You guys do the same." He looked at Cas. "So, what's the plan? What are you two gonna do next?"

"I think we should mount the search for Gabriel's blade," Cas responded. "We've got a pretty good idea of the area in which to look. Sam's going to do some research for me on that. I'll give him a couple of days, and then we'll check and see if he's been able to come up with anything."

"I'd like to stop in and see Frank and Jody," Gail piped up, and Bobby nodded, frowning. Gail didn't have to say what she was thinking, of course. They were all thinking the same thing.

"Thank you for the excellent work you've done here," Cas said to Kevin and Emma. "We would appreciate it if you were to continue the work. I'm pretty sure that there are many more useful things to be found in those Texts, and in the Tablet writings. We still have to find out what this means - " he pointed to the flipboard - "and find the Book of Life. If THAT exists, that is," he added dryly.


	3. Hell On Earth

Chapter 3 - Hell On Earth

Eric and Rob were already back from Florida when Cas and Gail got there. Eric's mom had given him a really weird vibe during their visit, and they'd ended up having an argument. So he had texted Rob that he was taking the bus downtown from the house, and the brothers had met there. Then they'd called Nuke and spent the night partying with him, crashing on air mattresses on his floor in the middle of the night.

The brothers had woken up in mid-morning the next day, light-headed and still a little drunk. They'd tried to rouse Nuke, but he was still down for the count. So Eric had left his young friend a note thanking him for the good time, and he and Rob drove to the neighbourhood diner. They'd loaded up on big plates of breakfast and lots of coffee, and then begun the journey back home.

It was getting to be nighttime again by the time the Angels got there. The family had finished supper a short time before, and to Cas and Gail's surprise, Liz and Gabriel were there in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

"Hey, welcome back," Gabe said with a grin. "How was Vegas? And might I add, I for one find it hilarious that Castiel enjoys going to Las Vegas." He looked at Cas. "You're sure not the same Angel I remember from back in the day, Brother."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Cas said, his lips twitching. "Where is everyone? And, why are you here?"

"There. Now, THAT'S the Castiel I'm more familiar with," Gabriel said, affably enough. He went to put a plate on the dish rack, and it nearly fell to the floor, because he was only half-paying attention to the task at hand. "Hey, your rack is crooked," he quipped to Liz, waving his hand to arrest the plate's fall. It flew back into Gabe's hand.

"Hey, don't talk about my rack in mixed company!" Liz joked, pretending to be outraged.

Gail looked at her friend. "We're going to have a little chat," she teased Liz. "I think you and Gabriel have been together too long."

Frank came into the room. "I thought I heard more Angels in here. Any more, and we could probably form a choir. Or a baseball team."

Gail moved over to her brother, and he put his arm around her shoulders. "How're you doing, kiddo?" he said, giving her a quick squeeze.

"Where's Jody?" she countered. "How's SHE doing?"

Frank released her, sitting down at the kitchen table. He nodded to Cas. "She's okay," he told them. "Just really tired. She and Rob went canvassing for the cancer charity earlier, but it took a lot out of her, so she went to bed right after supper."

Gail and Cas exchanged quick glances, but they said nothing.

Frank rubbed his face with one hand. He looked very tired, too. "I went out canvassing, too, for votes."

Gail's heart sank. With everything that had been going on, she had completely forgotten about that. "Is that already? When's the election?"

"Next month," he told her. "And, don't feel bad. I know you and Cas have had a lot going on. And let's face it, it's not like you guys can vote, or anything."

"I offered to pop around and stuff the ballot boxes for you, Frankenberry," Gabriel said, tossing the dish towel on the counter.

"Don't listen to a word he says," Gail said to her brother, rolling her eyes. "That's how he got us into trouble in OUR election."

Gabriel had the good sense to look a little abashed at that, but Frank smirked. "I'll have to get those Winchester guys out to the polls, though," he said. "I guess if you guys are back, that means they are, too."

"That reminds me," Cas said to Gabriel. "I think we may have a few clues on how to locate your blade. Sam is going to do some research on the subject."

Gabriel was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Okay, Bro. Let me know what you find out."

"Do you need anything else before we go, Frank?" Liz asked Gail's brother.

"No. Thanks, you guys. We'll see you soon," Frank said wearily.

The Angels joined hands and popped out.

Gail looked at Frank. "What was THAT all about? You've got Gabriel the Archangel doing your dishes? What have you GOT on him?"

Her brother laughed. "I think it's what LIZ has got on him. She was here babysitting Angela when we were all out earlier, and he popped down here. She handed him the dish towel, and that was that."

Cas smiled faintly, "He knows which side his bread is buttered on, correct, Frank?"

"Yeah, that's right, Cas," Gail's brother said. "So, what's the next big adventure?"

"Well, I don't know if it's going to be that big, but we will probably be looking for Gabriel's blade, soon," Cas responded. He was thoughtful for a moment. "Actually, there WAS one other thing I had in mind. I hadn't even mentioned this to Gail yet, but...are Rob and Eric here, at the moment?"

"Yeah, they're with Angela," Frank replied. "They said they'd do Story Time with her tonight. Jody and I were both too tired." He smiled wryly. "Gabriel offered, but I wasn't sure how PG any of his stories were gonna be."

"Do you mind if we go see Angela for a minute?" Cas asked him. "Then, after they are finished Story Time, I would like to talk to Rob and Eric and Gail, all together."

"Of course you can go see her," Frank replied. "YOU, I trust. Actually, that would be nice. She asks about you guys, sometimes."

"She does?" Gail said, surprised.

"Yeah," Frank said. "When she says her prayers every night." Then he smirked. "Hey, don't look at me. It wasn't my idea. She came up with that herself."

Cas and Gail exchanged glances again. "Go ahead," Frank said, rising from his chair. "But try not to wind her up too much. I need a little peace and quiet."

Frank started to make a pot of coffee as the Angels walked to Angela's room. They peeked in. Rob and Eric were in the middle of Story Time, so Cas and Gail observed quietly for a moment.

"So then, Rob pulled out an axe, and he cut off that bad monster's head," Eric was saying to Angela. She was sitting up in her bed, clutching a pillow, and her eyes were as wide as saucers.

Gail cleared her throat, entering the bedroom. Was Eric nuts? What was he doing, telling her a story like that? Frank was gonna kill him.

But, to her surprise, Angela cheered and clapped. "Yayyy!" she exclaimed. Then she noticed the Angels in the doorway. "Auntie Gail! Uncle Cas! Rob killed the monster that was in my closet!"

Ohhhh. Gail was relieved, now. She'd thought they'd been telling her about a real case there, for a minute. But it had only been about a child's imagination. Phew.

"Your father wants you to go to sleep now," Cas said to the little girl, and she flopped down on the bed. "Okay!" Angela said brightly. "Tuck me in."

Rob moved forward, but Angela said, "No. I want Cas."

Gail smiled. So what else was new? Cas moved forward and sat down on the bed, pulling the covers up to Angela's chin. He leaned down and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Thank you for your prayers," he told her. "We appreciate each and every one."

"If I pray to everybody in our Angel family and to Grandpa God every night, we'll all be safe," Angela said. "I saw a man say that on TV."

Cas frowned. He had no idea what to say to the little girl now. She must have seen one of those so-called religious charlatans that he disliked so much; one of the TV pitchmen who promised salvation for a price. He'd better tell Frank about that, so Angela's father could be more vigilant about the kinds of things his daughter was exposed to.

But for now, he simply wished Angela good night. Then he stood, and Angela said, "Now, I want Auntie Gail."

Gail smiled again. She took Cas's place next to the little girl, and Angela reached her arms up for a hug. Gail hugged her niece, and Angela gave her a big, smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Where were you? I missed you," Angela said to Gail. "We were having Story Time last night, and Mommy was supposed to be narrating. But she kept calling me Andrea, and she kept forgetting the story! Daddy said she was just tired. They're tired all the time. I thought you and Uncle Cas could tell me a story. Daddy said you have lots of adventures."

Oh, geez. Why didn't somebody just reach into Gail's chest, pluck out her heart, and do the Riverdance all over it? It would hurt less. She would not cry. She would NOT cry.

"Narrating?" Gail quipped gently. "That's a pretty big word, for somebody your age."

"I have a good vocabillary," Angela insisted, wide-eyed. "Daddy said I'm just like you."

OK; that was it. Gail was done. She couldn't. She just couldn't. "Well then, that means you're smart enough to know you'd better go to sleep now." She kissed her niece, then left the bedroom hurriedly, as Cas rushed after her.

"It's supposed to be vo-cab-YOU-lary," Rob corrected his sister. His heart was heavy too, but he was more used to this sort of thing by now. "But your Auntie Gail's right. You'd better go to sleep before Dad comes in here, and then we'll all be in trouble."

"OK." Angela fluffed up her pillow, closed her eyes, and incredibly enough, she was asleep a moment later.

"Geez, I wish I could do that," Eric said enviously. He and Rob moved to the door.

"You DO do that," Rob pointed out, smirking. He flipped off the light to Angela's room, and closed the door softly.

Meanwhile, Cas and Gail were back in the kitchen with Frank, and Gail was still fighting the tears. Now, she had a pretty good idea of why Frank looked so tired all the time.

"How do you do it?" she asked her brother.

"What do you mean? Do what?" he asked her, puzzled.

"Cope with it," she said. "Handle it all, without falling apart."

Frank smiled sadly. "Who says I'm not falling apart?" He sighed. "Look, kiddo. As you know, I learned how to deal with adversity from a very young age. That's probably why I get along with Sam and Dean so well. We can relate to each other. How do I cope with it? Make bad jokes, and drink a lot." Then he sighed again. "No. I owe you a better answer than that. I cope, because I have to. My first job is to get out of bed in the morning. Then, if I manage to do that, the rest is all just...life. I take care of my wife and kids the best I can, because that's what I'm supposed to do. I try to be a good role model, because in today's society, it's all too easy for them to be influenced a thousand different ways by a million negative things. Any time I feel like quitting, I just look at Jody's face. Would she quit on me, if the situation was reversed? No. Of course not. I see her struggling sometimes, trying to remember something, or trying to pretend like everything's okay, and it kills me. I want to just open my cranium and give her my brain and just say 'Take it! I've often been accused of not using it, anyway.'"

Frank laughed shortly, knuckling the tears from his eyes. "See, this is what we're not gonna do. You know, in A League Of Their Own, when Tom Hanks says there's no crying in baseball? Well, that's the rule in this house. No crying."

"The monster's been taken care of," Eric said, dusting off his hands. He and Rob came into the kitchen and pulled up a couple of chairs to sit with the others.

Frank was still looking at Cas and Gail, and he rolled his eyes now. "I see the looks on your faces. Don't worry; she's just going through a typical phase. Apparently, most little kids think there are monsters in their closet or under their bed, at some point."

"I remember that," Gail said, nodding. "I went through a brief phase where I thought that there was a monster in my closet. I'd bury myself under the blankets when I was really scared." Then she laughed, shaking her head at the memory. "Why on earth do we feel safer when we're under the blankets? It's not like the monster's going to come out and go,'I'm gonna get you - Oh, damn! She's under a blanket! Now I can't do anything!'"

Rob and Eric laughed. "That's a good one, Aunt Gail," Rob remarked. Frank smiled, giving her a brief nod of approval. Now, THIS was what he wanted his house to sound like. Lots and lots of laughter.

There was silence for a moment, as Rob got up to get a cup of coffee for himself. He reached for Frank's mug, but his dad shook his head.

"I would like to talk to you about something," Cas said suddenly. "Rob, Eric, and Gail."

"What's up, Cas?" Rob said. He poured a coffee for himself and one for Eric, and brought them back to the table.

"I need to know if the three of you would be willing to look at the files that are at the bunker, and identify all of the people you can who were at Vincent's compound," Cas said calmly.

Eric frowned. "Why?"

Cas knew that question was going to come up; it was just a matter of which one of them asked it first. The trouble was, he didn't have a ready answer. He didn't want to lie to his family, but he was unprepared to tell them the truth, either.

Fortunately, Frank took his brother-in-law off the hook. "Never mind why," he said irritably. "If Cas asks you to do something, you do it." Then he rubbed his face with his hand again. "Boy, am I tired. I think I'm gonna call it a night. Your mom should be sleeping pretty good by now." He leaned down and kissed Gail on the forehead, clapping Cas on the back at the same time. "If these guys give you any hassle, just sic Gail on them," Frank said to Cas, smirking. Then he left the kitchen.

Gail was giving Cas the side-eye now. She was also wondering why he wanted the information. Maybe just to see how many there were still out there. But, so what? What difference would that make? But she was more used to the way her husband operated than Rob and Eric were. Cas had this habit of meting out information, bit by bit. Maybe he thought it was easier than laying everything on you all at once; kind of like being reluctant to rip off a band-aid. But, Gail wasn't convinced. It hurt when you ripped off the band-aid, but at least it was over, once you did.

Rob shrugged. "It's still early. We can go with you now, if you want."

"Let me call Sam," Cas said. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and called their friend, and Sam gave him the green light to bring the others over.

Rob picked up the coffee mugs and put them in the sink, and then the Angels popped the young brothers over to the bunker.

Cas accompanied Sam to the storeroom to bring out the boxes of files. "Have you had the chance to talk to Quinn yet, or to Becky?" Cas asked Sam. He hadn't wanted to say anything in front of Rob and Eric.

Sam made a face. "I've been calling Quinn ever since we got back, but all I get is Voice Mail. She's clearly avoiding me. I told Dean I'm gonna go over to her place in the morning, and I'm going to stay right there on her porch until she lets me in. I've got to apologize to her, Cas. I owe her that." He sighed. "Then, I'll have to talk to Becky."

Cas nodded. He still didn't approve of what Sam had done, but Cas supposed it was really none of his business. But at least Sam was doing the right thing by facing both women.

When they'd brought the files out to the library room table, Gail, Rob and Eric started going through them.

"I wish there was more information in these things," Gail said, frowning in concentration. "I recognize some of these names, but some of the other ones...I don't know." She looked at Eric and Rob. "Put aside any files of people who sound familiar, you guys, and we'll look at them together, afterwards."

As they were doing that, Sam beckoned to Cas. "I found something online that might be about Gabriel's blade." He clicked on the item as Cas looked eagerly over his shoulder at the computer screen.

It was an article about a billionaire who was going to host a riverboat cruise on the Mississippi River. There would be food and drinks, a charity auction, and a poker tournament. The first prize for winning the tournament was going to be a rare collectors' item: an odd-looking, ancient knife with mysterious markings on it that had been found when authorities had dredged the river.

Cas brightened. That had to be it! He asked Rob to come over for a moment. The young man did, and he scanned the article. "My vision showed a hand, picking it up from the riverbank," Rob told the men. "But other than that, it sounds like that's it," he confirmed.

"Do you want to enter the poker tournament?" Sam asked Cas. "I can send in an application. They're only accepting millionaires, but if you can prove your net worth, you can enter." Sam grinned. "I assume you and Gail qualify?"

"Enter us both," Cas instructed him, and Gail looked up quizzically. But then, she shrugged. Whatever. She supposed the more entries they had, the better. She wasn't very good at poker, but it would be kind of neat to go on a riverboat cruise.

"I'll sign me and Dean up too, if you want," Sam said to Cas. "Thanks to you, we qualify, too."

"Certainly, Sam. That would be fine," Cas replied. Then he said, "I'll be right back." He popped out of the bunker.

"Where IS Dean, anyway?" Eric asked Sam. It was kind of funny how nobody had reacted to Cas's sudden disappearance. He guessed that kind of thing was commonplace for everybody by now. Even Eric was getting used to it. Ever since they'd found out that Jody was sick, Bobby had been popping in and out regularly. And if he couldn't come himself, he'd send Liz, or some other Angel. Frank had actually had to take God aside, and ask him to cool it a bit. He appreciated the help, but he would call if he needed a hand.

"Dean went to the Hunter bar to play some pool," Sam said in response to Eric's question.

"Why didn't you go with him?" Rob asked.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey, just because you guys are joined at the hip, that doesn't mean that me and Dean are. When you've been together as long as we have, believe me, you need some time apart, every now and then." Truth be told, Dean HAD invited Sam to go with him; the younger Winchester just hadn't been in the mood. He's used the research for Cas as an excuse.

Cas suddenly popped back into the room. "Sign Gabriel up for the poker tournament too, please. He'll be coming with us," he said to Sam.

"Oh, good. That'll be fun," Gail commented, but Sam sighed. He wasn't so sure. Then again, to be fair, Gabriel had been a lot better with them recently than he used to be. And it was his blade they were trying to retrieve, after all.

"And before you ask, I stopped by Kevin's office and had him set up bank accounts for us all," Cas added. "We'll have no trouble passing the requirements for entry."

Sam nodded, impressed. "OK, great." He started typing.

Cas came over to where Gail and her young brothers were still looking through the files. She had a stack beside her on the table, and the brothers each had smaller stacks beside themselves.

"How is it going?" Cas asked them.

Gail frowned. "The files aren't very detailed, Cas. I can identify some of the people, but without pictures of them, or information as to their special abilities, it's difficult."

"And the other problem is, even if we have a name from the file, I know that a few of them changed their names from birth, too," Eric added.

Rob had his hand on the stack of files he hadn't yet gone through, and his expression was thoughtful. "Guys, I hate to tell you this, but..."

"What?" Gail prompted gently.

"Benoit took some, when he left. About half a dozen. Maybe more," Rob said. "At least one of them is in here." He started flipping the files open. "But I don't know who they are!"

Gail's heart sank into her stomach. Great. Just great. Like they didn't have enough to worry about. She looked closely at Cas's face. Was that why he had been wanting them to check? Did he know something?

But before she had the chance to ask him, Sam's cell phone rang. He was entering the information for the poker tournament, so he absent-mindedly hit the Speaker feature.

"Sam, it's Dean," his brother said over the phone.

Sam was amused. "Uhh...I know your voice. Let me guess: you need a ride home."

"Sam..." Dean started to say, and then he stopped. "I've got bad news. I don't know how to tell you..." He stopped talking, again.

Cas and Gail exchanged glances. What the hell was this, now?

It was one of those types of coincidences that an author wouldn't dare write about in a novel, because no one would ever believe it.

Patricia got off the bus to stretch her legs, get a cup of tea, and urinate. There were bathrooms on the coaches, but she was still very uncomfortable about the notion of having to relieve herself anywhere, let alone on a moving vehicle. Now that her Grace was gone, that was one of the many unpleasant aspects of life on Earth that she'd had to adjust to. Hunger, thirst, and exposure to the elements were others. She was beginning to understand the difficulties that some humans encountered; those humans who did not have jobs, or money.

She had been lost in thought, wondering what she was going to do about those things herself, once the money she had ran out. And because she was preoccupied, she hadn't noticed the man who had been seated two rows behind her on the bus.

He had boarded in the last town, and as he moved down the aisle to sit near the back of the bus, he had glanced dispassionately at Patricia. But as he chose a seat and sat down, it occurred to him that he was sure he knew that woman. Who was she? Where had he seen her before?

By the time they'd gotten to the next rest stop, he knew. But, what was Patricia doing here? This must be the sign he'd been looking for. He'd been roving all throughout the United States, studying human life. Taking a closer look at Father's creations. Could he have been wrong, this whole time? Was humanity worth saving?

When they'd re-boarded the bus, he stopped in the aisle beside her seat. "Hello, dear lady," Raguel said to Patricia.

Dean had lied to his brother when he'd told Sam he was going to the Hunter bar. He'd figured that Sammy was going to turn down his invitation, anyway. Sam had had that look on his face. Not that Dean could really blame him. His younger brother had some music to face the next day, and it wasn't gonna be pretty. Two angry women were going to want to lower the boom on Sam tomorrow. If it was Dean, he would probably be drinking twice as much, the night before. But Sam was different. He wouldn't want to be hung over when Quinn and Becky were screaming at him.

But, even though Dean had given his little brother a hard time, he felt for Sam. What a mess. Dean had meant it when he'd said that they had all made mistakes like that from time to time. It was a rotten, crappy situation, but Dean thought that Sam deserved a pass. Nobody was more tender-hearted and respectful of women than his brother. Well, nobody human, anyway. Cas was, but Cas had elevated monogamy to a ridiculous level, so he was a bad example. Sam and Quinn weren't married, engaged, or even living together. They hadn't made any kind of commitment to each other. So even though what Sammy had done had been a real dick move, Dean thought he deserved to be forgiven.

Sam had looked so crestfallen when they'd talked about it on the drive home from Vegas. Then, when they'd gotten back to the bunker, Sam had called Quinn, and texted her, too. No response.

So Dean had decided to break one of his cardinal rules, and intervene on his brother's behalf. But he didn't tell Sam that he was going to Quinn's place, because Sam would have tried to talk him out of it.

But when Dean had parked the Impala on the street in front of Quinn's house, he noticed that there were no lights on, not even the porch light. Maybe she wasn't home. He doubted she would be in bed this early, but even if she was, the porch light should be on. Dean knew that women who lived alone were advised to keep lights on around their house all night long, just in case.

Oh, well. He was here now, so he might as well try. He walked up the front path and onto her porch, and he knocked on the door.

It creaked open. Oh, crap. She must have thought she'd closed it. He pushed the door open slowly, calling out Quinn's name. He didn't want to scare her. No answer. He called out again. Same thing.

He was feeling really weird now. Had she gone out, neglecting to lock her door? Or was she upstairs, sleeping? Was Quinn a sound sleeper? How the hell should Dean know?

"Oh, the hell with it," Dean said loudly. He called out Quinn's name once more, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The hallway was dark. He turned on his phone and touched the flashlight app, shining it around. There was something in the doorway that led off to the living room. What was it?

Dean moved closer, squinting. A suitcase? He stepped over it, shining the flashlight on the floor.

"Oh, crap. Holy crap," Dean breathed. He shone the light wildly around the living room wall, looking for the light switch. He flipped it with his index finger, hoping that what he'd seen had somehow been his imagination.

The room lit up, and Dean's fear was confirmed. Quinn was lying there on the floor, stabbed to death. He fumbled his phone, then punched Sam's number on the speed dial.

Yolanda was laying out everything she was going to take to the Vancouver Supernatural convention on the dining room table. It was still a couple of weeks from now, but she was too excited to wait to pack until the last minute. Tickets for her seat, the meet and greet, and photo ops, confirmation for the hotel, items to be autographed. She had everything organized. She couldn't stand it. She'd been looking forward to this all year. This was the year she was going to go for it. By the time the weekend was over, he was going to be hers. She loved him so much. He had no idea.

Tickets, confirmation, cute outfits...she was all set. Thank God all she had to do was jump in her car; otherwise, she would never have been able to bring the last item that she placed on the table now.

Her father's handgun.

\- END OF BOOK 38. -


End file.
